Forgotten Flashes
by SmellyCat190
Summary: A battle, a shining dome of golden light...and a baby Harry Potter, his memories lost, transported onto the doorstep of the McGonagall family, November 1st, 1921. New friends, new family, new hopes, new fears, new life. CURRENTLY REWRITING!
1. The Prophecy of Old, a Beginning of New

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to. 

Demetrius and Athena McGonagall to me.

Summary -

Warnings - Swearing

* * *

_'Two enemies locked in a bloody Battle, a War with no end,  
Until the time a Prophecy finally reveals itself,  
And with it the tide of the War._

_The Phoenix, lost in grief at the loss of his last, Attacked by the Snake and transformed into a youngling,  
Sent years into the past into another life,  
To start again and to live until his sixteenth year,  
Whenever he shall come back, with memories forgotten remembered,  
And the time for the Final Battle draws ever nearer._

_One year with many Battles,  
Two years in blood-stained War,  
The Final Battle shall then come, Blood red sun-rise bringing with it blood shedders and a moving black swarm of Death bringers,  
Whenever the grounds of the mighty Castle shall be stained by blood of man and beast,  
And the two enemies shall once again meet,  
For the final time._

_The power unknown, if unknown to the Phoenix, Shall cause the World to be lost in Darkness for Millennia to come.  
The power unknown, if known to the Phoenix,  
Shall cause the World to bask in Light for Millennia to come._

_The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches._

_Two enemies…a bloody Battle…a Prophecy…the final Battle…power unknown…the one…with the power…to vanquish…the Dark Lord…approaches.'_

_R. E. R. R. to H. C. P. F. H., circa 998._

* * *

On the morning of November 1st, 1921, Athena McGonagall quietly slipped out of her warm bed, leaving behind her gently snoring husband and the cocoon which she had developed during the freezing-cold night that had overcome Britain the day previous and that morning.

She slipped into the bathroom down the hall of their small home, turning on the dull light.

After washing her face, brushing her teeth and following the rest of her daily ritual, she stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair with a silver brush she had been given by her mother, brushing her dark brown locks.

Her face was a bright, healthy shade, helped along by the many days she spent walking over the Scottish Highlands, where the small village they lived in was located. She had dark brown eyes, like dark chocolate with a swirl of caramel in the centre. Her tiny frame made her stand at just 5'3" tall, although she had the right curves in the right places.

After running through a particularly nasty tangle in her hair, she put on the slippers which had been sitting beside the heater for the night, basking in their warmth for but a second before she continued downstairs into the kitchen, which was set with a stove, boards and a small wooden table, enough to seat a family of four, and started to fry some fresh bacon in the pan, aware that the smell would soon entice her husband from bed, and went over to the front door to collect the milk bottles they had delivered fresh every day.

What she found, besides her milk bottles, was a Moses basket, with a small child inside, near frozen in the cold weather.

She gasped and immediately picked the basket up, rushing into the kitchen once more, which had warmed considerably with the help of the stove, and started to do a number of routines to help the child, before he died, or was inflicted with hypothermia if he wasn't already.

Sometimes, she had regretted training as a nurse, because of the workload placed upon her during the Great War.

She was most definitely thankful now, and after twenty minutes, just as she began to loose hope, the small boy opened his eyes, two beautiful shining emeralds of innocence and purity.

And she fell in love with the small boy immediately.

His tufts of jet-black hair, his small chubby hands as they brushed the strange lightning bolt scar on his forehead, his little chubby cheeks, creased in a big grin for her…everything about him…but most of all, above everything else, his sparkling emerald eyes.

"Athena, darling. What is that basket on the table?" Demetrius McGonagall asked, pushing a tuft of his own jet-black hair out of his bright blue eyes as he entered, having lifted the milk bottles left on the doorstep, beside the wide-open door.

Apparently he hadn't noticed the small baby boy looking up at him, a curious expression on his face.

Athena couldn't tear her eyes away from the little boy's face, and Demetrius soon noticed, his eyes widening.

"Athena…is that a baby?"

"Me not baby." The little boy said indignantly. "Me big boy!"

Demetrius' war-hardened blue eyes softened, and he turned to look at Athena, who had still had not looked away from the little boy.

"You want to keep him, don't you?" He asked softly.

"Someone left him in our care, on our doorstep…I'm not going to shunt him away to some orphanage. After my parents did it…I know what it's like. I can't let him go through with it, not whenever we can provide a happy home for him here."

Demetrius sighed, knowing any futile attempts he may have made to dissuade her would be fruitless.

"I'll go and get some supplies then. Try and find out what his name is…if not, we'll decide later. But please, try not to get too attached…if he has been unwillingly taken, we will have to give him back…but first, we must have some breakfast. One can not fully concentrate on the day ahead if one does not have a full stomach."

Athena rolled her eyes, but tore her eyes away from the Moses basket and to the stove, where the bacon was near burning.

Luckily, it could be salvaged.

The McGonagall family enjoyed a very crispy breakfast that morning.

* * *

Short but sweet.

You'll find out about how this all happened to Harry later on.

You'll read all about Harry growing up, each of his years at Hogwarts and the time he goes back.

Please review and let me know what you think.


	2. The visit

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Demetrius and Athena McGonagall belong to me.

Warnings - Swearing

Author's note - Thank you to all my reviewers!

* * *

One crispy breakfast, a surprise baby girl and ten long years later, the small family sat once again in the kitchen of the small house, on November 1st, 1929.

"Thank you so much!" Damien grinned brightly, his emerald eyes lighting up as he opened the wrapped package his parents had put on the table in front of him.

Inside, for the boy's eleventh birthday, they had scraped together enough money to buy him the book he had wanted for so long, a Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

The family were short on money as they had always been, Demetrius being paid the dismal fee of a soldier, and Athena being paid the even more dismal fee of a nurse (which was co-incidentally how they had met - their jobs), they had usually only just enough to get by with food, heat and shelter, as well as the odd pocket money for the children, who had learnt over the years to never expect much for Christmas or birthdays, or to ask for anything.

Because of this, books, for Damien, were like a world away for him; a place to help escape some of the rougher times of his young life, and to simply drift away from normal, everyday life, immersed in the words of authors long having passed on, and some of whom were closer than that.

"We know that you've wanted that book for a while, so we saved up and managed to get a good copy."

Damien gave his parents the biggest smile they had ever seen before jumping at them and pulling them into a big hug.

They glanced at each other and shared a small smile. It had definitely been worth it.

A knock on the door interrupted the family moment.

Demetrius, surprised, pulled away, and with Athena walked towards the front door, Damien in the mean time turning towards his little sister.

Minerva was a year younger than him, and although they weren't related by blood, they looked rather familiar, with their raven-black hair and varying shades of green eyes, Damien with emerald and Minerva was an earthy-green shade.

Together, unlike many siblings, they went on walks together and the likes, and got along famously well, spending their time sitting together, reading, writing, practicing the classes that their mother gave them or something of the likes.

"I can't believe they bought me 'A Christmas Carol!'" Damien said happily, hugging the book close.

"You're so lucky, Demon." Minerva giggled, and giving him a hug and a quick 'happy birthday'.

"Thanks, Min."

She was about to say something else, only to be cut off by his father's call.

"Damien, could you come into the living room, please?"

He sounded strangely anxious.

Damien and Minerva glanced at each other before moving towards the room, together.

Inside, he found the most curiously strange looking man he had ever seen.

He looked around fifty or sixty-years-old (he was actually in his eighties). He had a long, auburn beard and matching long hair, a crooked nose, cerulean blue eyes with a near-blinding twinkle and the oddest looking clothes he had ever seen - bright green robes (Damien thought it looked like a bathrobe) with large purple stars on them.

"Um, you wanted me?" Damien asked, suddenly nervous for some reason. The man had a presence about him that was oddly familiar. But if he'd met the man, he would have known immediately. He wasn't someone you could easily forget.

"Yes." The man said calmly. "Please, take a seat."

Damien and Minerva both entered, and sat in between their parents.

"Mr McGonagall, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I am here to offer you a place at our fine establishment this next coming term."

Silence.

"Witchcraft and Wizardry?" Athena asked critically. "As in _magic!_"

Dumbledore nodded. Apparently, he had done this many times.

"It is a rare trait, with only one in a hundred people in Britain actually possessing magical traits, let alone the ability to harness them. And you, Mr McGonagall, are one these few."

Damien's mouth was opening and closing, but he managed to find his voice.

"But I can't be a Wizard…it's just impossible!"

Dumbledore surveyed him with a small smile.

"Have you ever done anything unusual? Whenever you were angry or scared?"

Damien went to say no, but paused.

"Well, there was that time whenever that Dursley boy was pushing my friend Jacob around, and his jacket caught on fire…and then he slipped over the ball on the ground and fell into a puddle…and then whenever I turned his hair green…and then…I think I believe you now." Damien said, obviously avoiding his parents' looks.

Apparently they hadn't known _those_ things.

"I must say, he did float his teddy bear away from the hot stove, before it caught fire…I just thought I was hallucinating." Demetrius mused.

Dumbledore chuckled and searched into his robes for a second, before bringing out a letter, with his name, address and, strangely, 'The Living Room'.

He took it slowly, twirling it around in his hands and noticing the wax-seal with a strange shield on it, before opening it and slowly read it.

"Broomsticks? Toads, cats or owls! And these books…"

He handed the list to Athena, but inside, his excitement was dying down.

They didn't have nearly enough money to pay for all this.

Apparently, Athena and Demetrius were aware of this too.

Even Dumbledore was in the know.

"The Ministry is, at the time, offering scholarships for Muggleborn students, if you choose to accept. This would mean that Damien's schooling fees, including those for books and the likes, would be sent to them. They are very willing to pay for the duration of his schooling career."

"Sorry sir, what's a Muggleborn?" Damien asked curiously.

"A Muggle is someone who has no magic, and a Muggleborn is someone born of a Muggle, but who is able to use Magic." Dumbledore calmly explained.

Demetrius and Athena, on the other hand, after a few seconds of quiet discussion, spoke next.

"I think that this 'scholarship' would be beneficial. We just wouldn't be able to support him otherwise. What is the exchange rate into your money? If we were to give Damien a bit of spare money, incase?" Demetrius asked.

"I believe, at the moment, it is two galleons to a penny. There are seventeen sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine knuts to a sickle. The reason for such unusually low rates is because of some disruption because of a proposed Goblin Rebellion. I would suggest any money you would like to exchange, to get it done as soon as possible. The rates are usually terrible for Muggleborns." Dumbledore thought for a second before replying.

"And there is the possibility of attending one of our gatherings in Diagon Alley, London. This is where you will find your supplies, and will be shown around by one of our teachers, along with several Prefects. There will also be several Muggleborns there, who are in similar knowledge of our world. These are available to participate in at several points throughout both this and next year. There is one coming up within the week, this coming Saturday. We have delivered our letters earlier this year, you see, and because of this, we have moved forward our gatherings.

"Of course, you are all welcome to attend."

It was decided that, although everyone else was busy with something or other (despite Minerva's obvious disappointment), Professor Dumbledore would come by - Floo Powder did he call it? - and pick Damien up.

And Damien, all this time, could only think of one thing.

Why did this all seem do familiar?

* * *

Thanks to all my reviewers so far, and thanks for reading this story :D. 


	3. Old, New, Borrowed, Green

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Demetrius and Athena McGonagall, Marcus Fletcher,Elizaneth Greeves and Anne Rossbelong to me - basically people you don't recognise.

Warnings - Swearing

Author's note - Thank you to all my reviewers!

_**Reviewer asked - Will Damien remember his past life? How did Dumbledore's hair change?**_

I answer - He won't remember, but he will have de-ja-vu moments. You know, the feeling that you've experience something before. That type of thing. And Dumbledore is a lot younger here, and a few years later, in Riddle's diary, are we told his hair is auburn. It is natural to assume that it was auburn before, hence auburn whenever he goes to see Damien.

_**Reviewer asked - But what happened to poor Minnie? Lol, but why isn't she a witch. At least as far as Dumbledore can tell. And you'd think he would be able to tell a ten year old witch. Maybe not a five year old but one year away from Hogwarts?**_

I answer - Minerva is a Witch (although she doesn't know yet. Dumbledore is only there to visit Damien, and he won't know of any new students for the next year. He can probably tell she is a Witch, but the priority at the time is Damien.

* * *

The week passed slowly for an excited Damien, who was normally much more subdued than suddenly clapping his hands together and jumping several times.

This had come to happen a lot.

And on the glorious Saturday of his visit to Diagon Alley, Damien awoke early and ate a quick breakfast before rushing up the stairs and into the bathroom before his father (much to said father's annoyance - he believed that Damien took after his mother in spending 'a bloody age' in the bathroom), and thoroughly cleaning his teeth and cleaned himself and his wild, unruly hair before rushing to get changed in his casual slacks and shirt, with his recently-shined boots.

He had just managed to get downstairs and kiss both his sister and mother goodbye before the fire crackling in the fireplace roared a dark green, and Albus Dumbledore neatly appeared, today in robes of navy blue with yellow witch's hats occasionally appearing.

"Hello Mr McGonagall, are you ready to go?"

Damien nervously handled the few pennies from his piggy bank, scraped together over the previous year, and nodded.

Dumbledore gave him a calming smile, and put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Now, to get to Diagon Alley, you must take a handful of the powder, throw it into the fire, step in and clearly state your destination, which shall in this case be 'The Leaky Cauldron'. You must articulate clearly, or who knows where you would end up."

He laughed. Damien swallowed, allowing a polite smile on his face.

"I shall follow behind you."

Damien took the offered powder and took a deep breath, a last weary but excited glance cast at his mother and sister who were watching him with baited breath, incase afraid he may be burnt, and threw the powder in, saw it turn green and stepped in.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" He called out, and he felt himself pulled away from his home.

The ride was nauseating.

He felt sick from spinning around so much, and had long ago tucked his arms in and closed his eyes before, after what seemed an eternity, he felt himself thrown to the floor.

Pale as paper, he managed to crawl out of the way before, seconds later, Dumbledore arrived, and helped him up.

Damien wanted to say thank you to the man, but didn't dare open his mouth yet, as his head was still spinning.

"Are you quite alright, Mr McGonagall?"

Damien nodded slightly, feeling the creeping sickness fall away as quickly as it had appeared, and he felt himself directed to a seat before being gently sat down, Dumbledore obviously not having believed him.

"Would you like a drink?"

Finally daring to open his mouth, he said a quiet 'yes' and searched for some of the coins in his pocket.

Dumbledore stopped him, reaching into his own pockets.

"It is quite an experience to taste butterbeer for the first time." He stated simply, paying the bartender, a young man named Tom, several small bronze coins.

"Also, Muggle money isn't accepted in the Wizarding World."

Damien sheepishly put the coins inside his pocket.

_**1234567890**_

Since the two were rather early, Dumbledore began to explain the Wizarding World to Harry, and describe the four houses to him, as well as the unfortunate prejudices which, at the time, were as strong as ever, with the steady rise of a Dark Lord, named Grindlewald.

"So there are many Purebloods who discriminate against Muggles and Muggleborns because they aren't 'pure'?" Damien asked, taking a small sip of the delicious drink.

Dumbledore, drinking his own, nodded.

"It is a shameful thing, and with Grindlewald rising, this tension will only increase."

Dumbledore fell into a slightly sombre silence.

Damien felt rather awkward, not wanting to speak first incase he disrespected the teacher.

However, Dumbledore, sensing the young man's discomfort immediately pulled himself together, and a twinkle returned once again to his eyes as he asked the question that he seemed to know would get the young man talking.

"So, Mr McGonagall, do you like to read?"

_**1234567890**_

It was a half hour later whenever the small number of Muggleborn students had gathered together nervously around two small tables, with Dumbledore (who was sitting beside several teachers and Prefects, along with Damien who still sat by his side) explaining about the Wizarding World to them, before, after answering several questions, leading them into the not-so-busy Diagon Alley and all its splendour, through an alleyway and a magical gateway.

Damien had been amazed, and had looked at the wonders around him while following Dumbledore, talking to a Prefect named Marcus Fletcher, who was teaching him about the markets and shops, bargains, and even, much to Damien's surprise and slight amusement, how to pick pockets and the likes.

Damien was afraid Dumbledore might overhear.

He did.

However, with twinkling eyes, he blatantly ignored it.

And Damien had made his first friend at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore had, by this time, led them all into the bank and up to one of the counters, several other teachers taking their assigned first-years and Prefects with them.

Damien was with two girls, who he began to shyly talk to.

"Hello."

The first girl, with brown hair, brown eyes and lightly tanned skin, smiled at him.

"Hello. My name's Elizabeth Greeves. What's yours?"

"Damien. Damien McGonagall." Damien smiled, holding his hand out for her to shake, which she did with a little giggle.

The other girl took this cue.

"Anne Ross."

They all shook hands, laughing amongst themselves, before, in turn, each went up to exchange their money.

Damien went first, handing, blushing, his pennies to the goblin (he had been rather shocked when Dumbledore first explained this), who weighed them and handed him 10 galleons, twenty sickles and several knuts, along with a small card.

He picked it up curiously, and found, to his surprise, his name, picture, and details.

"This is for the Ministry Scholarship Scheme. You can produce this at any shop, and the charges for your school supplies shall be sent to the Ministry."

Still blushing under Elizabethand Anne's gazes, he accepted it with question and stepped out of the way, allowing the girls to go in turn, each with a large amount of money to exchange.

Damien pretended not to notice.

The girls were rather embarrassed.

"Now, we shall begin." Dumbledore began, and began to move out of the bank. The four followed after him.

_**1234567890**_

Damien had nearly finished purchasing all his supplies, having spent a long time inside Flourish and Blott's and purchasing several extra books with his own money (and a book on beginner's Transfiguration for Minerva, a recommended title by Dumbledore, who was the Transfiguration Professor) as well as a small black kitten that cost only several knuts, when the quintet finally moved into Ollivander's.

As he entered, and he felt the ancient magic tingle on his skin, and as the small bell sounded, he felt the feeling, once again, that he had experienced this before.

Even the man with the mysterious silver moon eyes was familiar in some way.

He shook his head.

"Ah, Mr Dumbledore, Oak, 14 inches, phoenix feather core. How is it doing?"

"Very well thank you." Dumbledore bowed his head slightly.

The man, presumably Ollivander, then turned to the first-years, all of whom took a subconscious step backwards, and he got a ghost of a smile on his face, before signalling for Elizabeth to go first.

Swallowing, she stepped forward.

_**1234567890**_

Thirty minutes later twenty wands lay tried and tested on the old counter, and a slightly embarrassed Damien picked up yet another, which caused a chair to be set alight, before, after a second, Ollivander reappeared.

Muttering under his breath, he handed an old, dust-layered box to Damien.

"Ash, 13½ inches, with the tail-feather of a phoenix. Supple. An all-rounded wand." Ollivander explained, watching Damien closely.

Damien opened it carefully, and set his eyes upon the beautiful wood, before moving to touch it.

The second his fingers connected, he felt his nerves come alive with magic, and he raised it above his head, bringing it down in a series of red and gold sparks.

Ollivander looked very excited, and slightly shocked.

"Curious…very curious."

Damien looked at him.

"Why? What's curious?"

There was an anticipating silence.

"That wand, Mr McGonagall, has been on the shelves of this shop for so long, it is not known who this wand originally belonged to - I do know that it belonged to someone else, which is all I know, unfortunately - however, every person who has attempted to hold this wand experienced a very powerful ward in place, not allowing an ounce of magic to leave it. It is very curious that it chose you, Mr McGonagall. You are destined for great things. Yes, indeed."

Damien paid and nearly ran out of the shop.

* * *

My next chapter :D.

Let me know what you think.


	4. The Train and the Sorting

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Demetrius and Athena McGonagall belong to me, as well as all the other people you don't know.

Damien is Harry, as someone asked that, and as you can see, it is 1931. Also, someone asked if Dumbledore knows that he is Harry - it is safe to assume a big, fat no for that one. No-one knows, not even Harry/Damien himself. Hope this clears it up :D.

Warnings - Swearing

Author's note - Thank you to all my reviewers!

* * *

_  
1st September, 1931_

King's Cross Station was bustling with late morning activity, passengers and late train workers alike rushing through the station and onto their appropriate vessels of transport.

And in the midst of this, Damien McGonagall pushed his way through, trunk and wicker basket containing one small tabby cat sitting upon his cart, a look of nervousness, fear and excitement upon his young face, while his emerald eyes searched for Platform 9¾, as the ticket said.

But he could not find such a platform, and the guard had not been much help, practically chasing him off for his 'immature prank'.

Had he not experienced and practiced magic, and had he not experienced, still, the rush of touching the small piece of wood that was stuffed deep into his trousers, he would have himself believed it to be a prank.

And just as he looked desperately at the clock slowly ticking at five minutes to eleven, a call in the distance caused him to grin and sigh in relief.

Anne and Elizabeth stood, the two girls living several streets away having travelled together, waving at him and rushing towards him, both giving him small hugs before pulling him forward.

"We've got to get on the train." Elizabeth said breathlessly.

Damien nodded and followed, certainly not expecting to be practically thrown into a brick wall.

Thankfully, said brick wall was the gateway to the crowded Platform that they seeked, and rushed towards the slowly moving train, discarding their carts and pushing their trunks in before jumping on one at a time, Damien having to run slightly before jumping on, and then, together, the Trio moved off towards Hogwarts.

_**1234567890**_

Another boy had joined them soon afterwards, Marcus' younger brother Patrick.

The young boy was slightly shorter than Damien, with shaggy dark brown hair and warm chocolate brown eyes, and a cheeky grin - he had a wicked sense of humour as well, and their laughter often rang throughout the compartment. He was into sports, he was a Pureblood, so no Muggle equivalents were included, and loved food and horsing around. He had a natural flair of charming, matching Damien's if truth be told, although the young boy did not know of that.

Damien, while studying the young boy, took the time to look closer at Anne and Elizabeth as well.

Anne was the shortest of them all, with long, mousy brown hair and bright blue eyes - already she had come across to him as a loyal friend and a truly nice person, with an interest for light reading, poetry and music. Also, she had a compassionate nature, caring for plants and animals alike, and helped those she could. However, she could let loose and had a carefree nature that came across past first impressions.

Elizabeth was slightly taller than her, with wild red hair that she had forced into a plait and soft brown eyes. Damien knew already not to annoy her, as she apparently had sharp punch and he bruised like a peach, however, she was kind, and more perceptive than she appeared. She loved music, dancing, and reading, although it did not come across at first. She had a slight demanding and teasing nature, although loved to joke around, and cared for her family and friends.

And Damien himself was the unsaid leader of the group already.

He was the tallest of them all, with scruffy, wild, untameable, shaggy jet-black hair (it was hard to describe really) and glasses over his sparkling emerald green eyes that made him stand out in crowds. He was loyal, caring, reckless, brave, cunning and very smart, intelligent and sharp - very on the ball as his parents had said. He loved to read, write, draw and music, and was able to read people's expressions once he got to know them.

He loved to horse around, joking around when he could as well, although knew when to be serious. He was sensitive and caring, very compassionate to his family and friends, who he subconsciously feared he would lose, and also loved his sister dearly, promising to protect her as best he could - and he had done well so far.

Together, the new Quartet, got to know each other better, the feeling as if they had known each other all their lives settling upon them.

It was a great feeling to have.

_**1234567890**_

The caretaker, Ogg, led the group of nervous first-years from the train, onto the boats and towards the mighty Castle of Hogwarts, which for Damien felt as if he was returning home after a long journey, and off once again (after their first view of Hogwarts herself in all her glorious splendour) to a large door, which he knocked several times before it was opened by Professor Dumbledore, sporting soft baby blue robes with small orange stars on them.

"The first years, Professor Dumbledore." Ogg grunted.

"Thank you, Cerebus." Dumbledore nodded amicably, and the man turned away, retreating towards his hut on the grounds.

"Now, if you would please follow me."

With a small smile at Damien, he turned around, and the silent future students followed as if trudging towards certain doom.

This feeling was added to whenever he (and everybody else) heard someone whispering about fighting a troll.

They all paled rather dramatically.

Dumbledore had since led them into a room, and gave them a short talk about the Houses before leaving the room, only to return several minutes later declaring that they were ready for them.

Damien paled, as did Marcus, and together, with the two girls behind them, they walked into the magnificent Great Hall, the night's spectacular clear skies opening the heavens above them with constellations and planets, even a shooting star, appearing to the naked eye.

The first-years seemed to inflate at the sight of a Hat, which, to his shock, opened at a seem and started to sing.

The other students applauded and cheered after before, Dumbledore, in all his baby-blue glory, started to call names of students in order of surname.

"Abbot, Julian."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Allison, Jennifer."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Bones, Lucille."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

It was a few minutes later whenever he called the first of the group to their fate.

"Fletcher, Patrick."

The boy shot Damien a nervous grin before pushing up to the front, sitting on the stool and having the Hat set upon his head.

Several seconds later, it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The table on the far right started clapping, and Damien gave him a thumbs up before taking his seat, shaking Marcus' hand with a wide grin.

"Greeves, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth shot Anne and Damien a nervous smile. but looked rather composed before she too sat on the stool, where the Hat was, as tradition called for, placed upon her head.

It took around ten seconds before it too shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

It seemed an age, and yet so short a time, until he was called up himself.

"McGonagall, Damien."

He shot Anne a smile before walking on the platform, trying to ignore all the hundreds of pairs of eyes locked on his small form, and Dumbledore placed the Hat onto his own raven head, which engulfed him completely.

It was silent for a few seconds.

'_I must say, it is hard to place you.'_

Damien nearly jumped.

'_W-what do you mean…um…hat?'_

'_You are fiercely loyal, intelligent, brave and yet cunning and ambitious - I must admit, I find it hard to decide…I have not had this much trouble since young Mr Dumbledore.'_

'_Where did you sort him eventually?'_

'_Into Gryffindor actually. Hence why he is now Head of Gryffindor House. However, it is your sorting I must focus on. I may need to delve slightly deeper if you don't mind.'_

Damien had no idea what this meant, but agreed anyway.

'_Um…no, not at all.'_

He felt a slight tingling and heard the Hat gasp.

'_What? What is it?'_

'_It is nothing Mr McGonagall, nothing at all. However, I must say, from my findings your suited house is most definitely _"GRYFFINDOR!".

The last word was shouted for the Hall to hear, and he grinned happily, near-throwing the hat off before taking a seat at the applauding Gryffindor table, where he sat next to Patrick, and opposite Elizabeth, and where he was shaking several hands, including Marcus', who smiled widely at him.

Damien knew immediately the Hat had sorted him into the right House.

Several names later, Anne was also sorted in Gryffindor, much to the relief of the trio currently sitting at the table, all with crossed fingers and then large applause at the shouting of the Hat, and she quickly sat down.

They all exchanged happy looks at each other, before a movement at the front of the hall attracted their attention.

An old man stood before them, gentle green eyes surveying them all behind his rectangular spectacles. He had a short blonde beard, with shortish blond hair, and wore yellow robes, which blended in surprisingly well with his hair. However, despite appearances, he radiated wisdom, calm and was obviously was well respected, as when he held up his hands, any whisper that sounded ceased.

"Welcome students to another year at Hogwarts. However, before we begin our magnificent feast, I must make the start-of-term announcements. First-years, and older students, are reminded that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all those who do not want to suffer terribly."

He paused.

"Also, Mr Filch has asked me to remind you to not use magic in the corridors, and that several new Zonko's items have been added to his list of banned objects, which can be found pinned on his office door for those who wish to see.

"Now, I believe that is all, so please, tuck in."

Damien gaped as the tables suddenly were piled high with food that he both loved, hated and had never tried (and that was a lot considering the fact that they could barely afford enough food to share), before beginning to pile up his plate high, trying some of all available.

He was in heaven.

_**1234567890**_

Gryffindor Tower sat snugly behind a portrait of a Fat Lady, the password 'Onomatopoeia' (a Muggle term) opening the portrait to reveal a hole in the wall, which they all scrambled through, and they were led into the comfortable Common Room, which contained several desks around the walls to work, as well as many squashy armchairs loitered around the room and crackling fireplace, all red and very comfortable.

Marcus was the first-year boys' assigned Prefect, and he was currently showing them to their dorm, the girls being led through one door and the boys another, and after bidding Anne and Elizabeth goodnight Damien and Patrick followed, walking up to the top of the spiral staircase (they were obviously in one of the towers) and found five four-poster beds, deep-red velvet curtains hanging off of them.

Their trunks were now in front of their beds, and Damien near-collapsed onto the soft bed.

All of the boys were tired, but were all too excited and nervous to fall asleep yet. Instead, they sat up and started to talk, getting to know each other better, and sat on the floor in their pyjamas, their quilt covers wrapped around them.

"I'm Jacob Thomas." The young black boy opposite Damien began. "I'm from England, and I'm a Muggleborn Most people call me Jacob, although my friends call me JT, or Jay, whatever really. Either or both. Doesn't bother me."

"The name's Samuel Orr." The boy beside Jacob spoke up. "I'm from Ireland, and I'm a Muggleborn. People call me Sam, Sammy, Samuel or the likes, although adults and people I don't know too well stick to Samuel, you can call my any of those. I don't mind either."

"I'm Christopher Scott." The boy on Damien's right said. "I'm from England, and am Half and Half. My mum's a Muggle and my Dad a Wizard. I'm called Christopher by adults, although others call me Chris, Scott or Scotty. Any is fine."

"Patrick Fletcher." Patrick spoke from the other side of Damien. "I'm from England, and I'm a Pureblood. Adults call me Patrick, although I'm called Patrick, Paddy, Fletcher and Fletch. Don't mind any of those."

"I'm Damien McGonagall. I'm from Scotland and am a Muggleborn. My parents call me Damien, but my sister calls me Demon sometimes, and sometimes by my middle names, Alexander, with the alternative Alex, Alec and the likes, and James, with Jamie and others. And just like you all, I don't mind any of those."

With these short introductions, the Quintet began to talk amongst themselves, all slowly coming to know the others rather well considering the fact they stayed up until midnight, whenever they all retreated to their beds, and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

Damien's first day.

Now, the big question.

Should I do highlights over the years until he turns sixteen, or make it longer. Or even turn the years into one huge story? It'd be rather long anyways, but would you rather more details etc during the years?

Put it in your reviews!

Also, what do you think he should name the cat? It's a small tabby (couldn't resist), and whoever gives me the perfect name will have a special mention in my notes in the next chapter. :D


	5. Bullies, Flying and Sickeningly Pink

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Demetrius and Athena McGonagall belong to me, as well as all the other people you don't know.

I based Anne Ross and Elizabeth Greeves (with surnames and part of first name) on my two friends Lauren and Lise. They read the story and started telling me about this, so I've decided to give them special mention (for the sake of my own limbs). You guys are great and I had to put you in! (And yes, I guess you two copyright yourselves and own said people, lol)

(http/paintmeister. - by the way, visit this address! It's Lise's art work, so hopefully I'll be able to tell her if you like it :D - let me know what you think of it)

Also, if for the person who asked about how Damien de-aged and things like that, if you reread the Prophecy in the first chapter, you'll see, lol.

P.S. - The Headmaster is Dippet - I forgot to put it in the last chapter, but I had him in mind.

Warnings - Swearing

Author's note - Thank you to all my reviewers! And thanks for all your votes etc. The cat name hasn't been decided quite yet, as I've started this the day I finished - although I think everyone is up for flashes, so that is what I shall do. I was thinking a chapter for each year, then one for whenever he goes back, and then the rest of the story.

* * *

_21st September_

The Gryffindor Foursome had settled rather well into classes thus far, with Damien excelling in Defence, taught by Professor Alastor Moody, a young trainee Auror, Charms, taught by a short, fresh-faced teacher named Professor Filius Flitwick and Transfiguration, with Professor Albus Dumbledore. He got along well with all his teachers, and they him.

With this news, and news of other happenings around Hogwarts, he was sending owls as much as possible to his family and little sister (who thanked him profusely for several Transfiguration books that he had sent her from the Library), however, he still found it strange to be away from his family, and for so long, and wrote to them as often as he could.

He held a strange type of homesickness in a way, however, he was slowly getting over it - it was natural for a boy who had, before, never been away even a night from his family, and, although he didn't know it, had never had a loving family before then.

Subconsciously, however, he realised this, and that his time was limited, and it urged him to write to his family as much as possible.

He unconsciously listened.

It was on this day, however, that Damien found something other than classes which he had a natural flair for, and this excelled even those in classes, for the rush made him feel truly alive.

Flying had, and always would be, Harry Potter's true freedom.

"UP!" Damien commanded, and the rather new broom jumped into his hand, taking him by surprise.

Those around him had failed spectacularly.

Patrick managed on his second try. Elizabeth, who apparently was growing frustrated, looked ready to skin it alive and shouted up angrily.

It jumped into her hand.

She looked rather pleased.

Anne, however, had a morbid fear of flying, and was muttering under her breath, trying to calm herself down.

She hated anything to do with flying, and trying to command a broomstick was a mental block she had built rather hastily.

Whenever the Professor wasn't looking, she simply picked it up.

The teacher, Mr Wilkinson, a rather sporty young man with an athletic build, dark hair and a grin which made many girls melt, then directed them on flying, and basically allowed them free reign after a student was sent to him with a message from Headmaster Dippet, causing him to run towards the school in a hurry.

There was silence before several Slytherins kicked off after Paddy, who had quickly flown up after the man had turned his back and they surrounded him.

His friends didn't realise yet, as their backs were to the scene.

A young Slytherin named Malfoy flew towards him, a vindictive smirk on his face.

"Well, well, well, lookie who we have here, boys. Patrick Fletcher. The blood-traitor."

Patrick flushed angrily.

"I'd rather be a blood traitor than a blood racist."

Malfoy's smirk faded and moulded itself into a glare.

"Shut up, you filthy Mudblood-lover. The blood-traitor and his little troop of Mudbloods. A disgrace to Wizard-kind."

"Don't you _dare_ call them that, Malfoy!"

"I'll call them whatever I like. They are the scum of the Earth! They'll bring an end to our kind and kill us all! They are tainting the blood of Wizard kind!"

"The only tainting of Wizard kind is your Pureblood inbreeding." Patrick replied, glaring at Malfoy himself. "Marrying your cousin in arranged marriages. That must be _great_ fun."

Malfoy took out his wand, as did the Slytherins beside him.

Patrick took out his own, although he knew he was outnumbered, and it was a long way down if he was knocked off of is he fell.

Damien turned around whenever he heard the shouts around him, and he looked up at the group.

He hated bullies, and picking on his friend was crossing a line. He had been bullied himself whenever he was younger, aged only five at the time, by a young man named Dursley, causing his father to take him to martial arts classes, to defend himself. He had also thrown in sword-fighting, for a challenge to the young man.

He had since become a Junior Champion in the country in at several types of martial arts, and also in Fencing, where he was known for his cat-like grace and delicate, deadly skills with blades, and although it wasn't well known outside of that particular world, he preferred to keep it that way, to spring a nice surprise on those who had once bullied him and would try once again to bully him, and his friends.

And he did spring a particular lovely surprise on Dursley, who ran home one day with a black eye, a broken nose and a cut lip. He hadn't bothered him again.

His eyes filled with a fire of fury as flashes of his own taunted days passed over his mind's eye, and he grabbed his broom once again, not noticing it hovered nicely beside him, before kicking off smoothly, shooting up towards the group, who had not yet noticed the approaching boy.

"You'll pay for that, Fletcher! Stup-"

"Expelliarmus!" Damien shouted, still flying, and all of the wands flew towards him, which he then threw to the ground, bar Patrick's, which he stuffed into his robes.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" He asked calmly, although even his cronies, who were as thick as two planks, could tell he was ready to kill.

Malfoy glared but made no reply.

"I'd advice you to leave him alone, Malfoy. And all of my friends. If you don't, I promise that I will come down on you so hard you won't know what hit you. Is that clear?"

Reluctantly, Malfoy nodded, and flew towards the ground indignantly looking for his wand.

His friends followed him.

Damien turned to Patrick and handed him his wand before grinning.

"You know, I don't think those Slytherins like us too much." Damien voiced cheerily.

"Neither do I, Demon, neither do I." Patrick grinned, his anger fading.

Damien laughed before taking off flying once again, diving, turning and rolling in the air without fear or thought for anything else other than his flight.

* * *

_31st October, 1931_

Halloween had slowly crept up on the four young Lions.

The first true signs that morning of Halloween at Hogwarts was the wafting scent of pumpkin pie that loitered the halls like a shadowy presence, enticing all into the Halloween spirit.

That day, they only had morning and midday classes, which led up to lunch, before they were to be let off, in time for the Halloween Ball to be held for the upper-years in the Great Hall. The younger years were to have their own separate parties in their Common Rooms.

Damien's first class of the day was Transfiguration, where Professor Dumbledore was currently in the Halloween mood, allowing them a free period while he transfigured things around the room, such as stones into a flock of bats (which were later seen to be chasing the hated caretaker Filch), quills into pumpkins and the likes.

Damien, who was amazed, asked Dumbledore how to do some of the demonstrated effects, and Dumbledore, in the end, taught him several rather nifty transfigurations, which Damien could hardly wait to try out.

He was rather proud of his later-magically-carved pumpkin (which sat in his dorm room for around a month after before Patrick, sick of the decomposed, reeking pumpkin, threw it out of the window, unaware that it hit several girls below) and kept practicing the transfiguration to and from a button.

The next class was Charms, where they learnt to enchant small posters for the ball, with different happenings 'in the spirit of Halloween'

Elizabeth enjoyed the gore of a re-enactment of Nearly-Headless Nick's beheading, the blood from the severed head forming the words 'Halloween Ball - Be there or die painfully like Nick!'.

Flitwick had politely asked her to, if nothing else, remove the 'or die painfully like Nick'.

She did as he asked, grumbling all the time.

She re-charmed it later, receiving a detention for it.

Elizabeth merely shrugged and laughed hysterically, while her friends exchanged weary looks before jokingly running away from her.

She continued laughing.

* * *

_20th December, 1931_

Christmas was the high-point to a great year in Damien's opinion, especially as he got to see his family for the first time in four long months.

As soon as he had stepped off the train, he had been engulfed into a bone-crunching hug by Minerva, which caused him to laugh happily and return, before repeating the same with his mother, who looked slightly tired compared to the last time he had seen her, however, he dismissed it and quickly turned to face Patrick, who was the only one of his friends to be coming home for the holidays.

Elizabeth and Anne had decided to stay at Hogwarts this year, and he had already left their presents with Anne (so Elizabeth wouldn't open it before Christmas day).

He had gotten Anne a book from a second-hand book store (thanks to owl-purchase) about plants and their properties, due to her great interest in Herbology, and another on Muggle technology, while with Elizabeth, he had gotten a small silver box he had purchased for just a few sickles with the books - apparently, it contained a small dancer in the centre and played music as it spun, which he believe would be prefect as she was a keen dancer.

For Patrick, on the other hand, he had bought some Muggle sweets (the boy had a read sweet tooth).

"Mum, Min, this is Paddy…Patrick Fletcher."

Patrick put on a charming smile as he shook Athena's hand, before turning to Minerva and repeating the same, causing her to blush slightly at the twinkle in his eye.

"We better get going, Damien - it will take all day to get home."

Damien gave his friend a handshake and a look before leaving.

A small smile appeared on his face as he realised something.

They had never said they couldn't use magic.

* * *

_26th January, 1932_

Damien had long since anticipated Minerva's 11th birthday, which had been the day before on the 25th, for one main reason.

The fact that she would receive her Hogwarts letter, if she was indeed magical, and he hoped she was, for she had been so excited about the possibility of it that she had read all of his textbooks, and he had continued to send her Transfiguration books through owl post, as well as others, because of her deep interest already.

So whenever a large brown owl flew towards him that morning in the post run, one he recognised as one he had sent the other day to find out, as well as deliver his present, he quickly ripped the attached latter off and opened it eagerly, scanning it before grinning and beaming.

"She got in!" Damien laughed happily to Patrick, who grinned back at him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Don't even _think_ about it."

* * *

_14th February, 1932_

Valentine's Day was usually not an important time at Hogwarts, however, one of the female staff (Muggle Studies Professor Shauna Hilliard) had suggested a rather - different approach to Valentine's Day.

"Oh my GOD! Attack of the sickeningly pink madames…it looks like a slutty brothel!" Elizabeth exclaimed loudly, her eyes bugging out and a look of horror and disgust on her face.

"Sweet mother of Merlin! That's just sickening!" Anne agreed just as loudly, cringing as even her niceties could not hold her back from her views on the redecorated Great Hall.

Damien and Patrick, who were as usual lagging behind, both choked.

"And this is why I'm not woman." Patrick stated after Anne hit him on the back.

Damien just glanced at him strangely, but looked around the room once again in total disbelieve as they took their seats at Gryffindor tables.

"Pink food…pink knives and forks…pink table coverings with little red hearts…little red and pink heat confetti floating down continuously from the ceiling…Professor Flitwick flying around as cupid in a nappy!…duck!…(said Professor, who had most likely been unwillingly charmed for this, had just flown past, nearly hitting them with his bow and quiver or arrows)…Hilliard is insane!" Damien commented wryly and completely serious.

Headmaster Dippet stood at the front, his usually calm façade for once disturbed by a clearly…distasteful…outlook on his Great Hall.

"Professor Hilliard, who has organised this treat," he forced the word out with all his will-power, "for us, would like to let everyone know that the opportunity to send anonymous valentines cards is available, and can be posted in many boxes around the school. Thank you."

The group looked at each other and gagged, as did many around them, bar the giggling 'popular' girls, who were delighted and held their Professor in a new light.

_

* * *

10th June, 1932_

Damien, despite the hot summer's day reigning down on Scotland that day, worked quickly and quietly in the Library from his copy of 'A History of Magic', by Newt Schmander, writing an essay for Professor Binns.

Of course, the man was near death's door, was half-deaf and had a head live a sieve, but he did, by some strange effort, set homework (which he didn't collect in or check it should be noted), always on goblin rebellions. He did it only because he learnt what the man droned on about, and found it interesting - although there was only so much gore one could take - and one would of course assume it would be exciting. There was no such luck.

Everyone fell asleep in the man's class, and it had taken all of Damien's will-power not to do the same, eventually managing to save for a Quick-Quotes Quill, which would copy down everything the man said into easy-to-understand English, before he too joined his sleeping classmates.

However, despite this all, all the trouble he had and was currently taking with his summer homework for the subject, to get it out of the way, he had indeed finished his exams, and had passed with rather spectacular marks, leaving him as one of the highest-placed students in his year - his mother had been so proud that she had made him a small cake.

He had beamed whenever he received it.

Also on this day however, was the Quidditch Final for the year, Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin.

He loved Quidditch, and he and Patrick aimed to try-out the next year as Beaters. Many of their friendly debates centred around Puddlemere United and the Chudley Canons, Patrick and Damien's supported teams in said order, and both held an obvious love for the fast-paced game.

The girls rolled their eyes at this.

Slytherin won, for those who are interested, absolutely trouncing the Ravenclaws by 410 - 70.

* * *

_27th August, 1932_

Damien smiled in relief as the last word of his, for lack of better word, vicious, Potions essay, which he had been struggling over for the last few weeks, before throwing down his quill, putting the lid on his ink-well and running down the stairs in joy, a giant grin on his face, finding Minerva sitting with one of her own first-year texts.

Pulling out one of his more advanced books, about shields, he joined her in the silent reading session.

After more than an hour, Damien was beginning to feel rather worried that his mother wasn't home yet.

After yet another, he set down his book without a word and was about to open the door whenever his mother pushed it open, pale and shaking.

"Oh God…Mother, are you alright."

She looked at him.

"I'm fine, son, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Why are you back so late?"

"It was rather busy at the market today, that's all."

He took the bags offered to him after giving her a look which clearly said he didn't believe her, and walked into the kitchen, silently worrying about his adoptive mother.

* * *

I can hear all the clogs turning in your heads - I already have this part planned out in my head.

I'm still looking for a cat name, although I found a few I rather like, any more would be appreciated :D.

This is Damien's first year over and done with - again, a chapter a year until he gets back - thanks for all your votes on that - it was a clear winner.


	6. Quidditch, Black Letters and the Passing

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Warnings - Swearing

Author's note - Thank you to all my reviewers! And thanks for all your votes etc. The cat name has been decided, and this chapter is therefore dedicated to **neosildrake**, who gave me the idea of the name Azrael - I had no idea what it meant either, until I looked it up, lol - so thanks very much :D.

_

* * *

1st September, 1932_

For the first time, the two McGonagalls together walked onto the magical Platform, through the once-again bustling crowd and onto the train, Damien giving Minerva a helping hand on before she decided to go and get a compartment to herself, to see if she could meet some other first-years.

Damien reluctantly agreed, but did so with a small smile.

"Just remember what I taught you, Min."

"Heal palm to jaw?" She asked innocently, with a small smile.

"Well, I was thinking more to be yourself - but that to." He added with a warm smile, placing a comforting and soothing hand on her shoulder before she took a deep breath and ventured deep into the train, trunk rolling along behind her, giving him a small smile before carrying on.

"She's definitely going to be a Gryffindor." Damien muttered, and with that, spun around and went to find his friend.

_**1234567890**_

Reunited, Damien, Patrick, Elizabeth and Anne took their usual seats at the end of the table, having travelled for the first time in the horseless carriages, falling silent with the rest of the hall as the first-years were led in once again by Professor Dumbledore, all but one looking nervously around for the troll/giant/dragon which they were supposed to fight/wrestle to be Sorted into their Houses, which was why, whenever the Hat was set out, they all sighed in relief.

That 'one' was Minerva, who beamed at him causing him to wink in reply, and who was standing with a young girl with light blonde hair and hawk-like eyes, and another with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes.

Damien kept his eye on them all, waiting for any of them to go up.

The first was, "Hooch, Xiomara."

The young girl with blonde hair and hawk-like eyes went up eagerly and jammed on the hat.

There was a few seconds of tense silence before, in a loud, clear voice, the Hat announced "GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a loud cheer from said table, and blushing heavily, Xiomara walked over, taking a seat at the end of the table.

Another long time of waiting came, before "McGonagall, Minerva" was called.

Damien crossed his fingers as the hat was placed on her head, and he sat anxiously, his muscles tightened.

It took a minute before it too shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

Beaming, he clapped the loudest at the table, and watched as she took her seat at the bottom of the table, beside Xiomara.

The final girl of the group, "Sinistra, Sarah", later became a Gryffindor.

Another Golden Trio was born.

* * *

_14th September, 1932_

With their small supporters squad of one Quidditch enthusiast and four not-_so_-enthusiastic followers of the sport, but all with a hope their team would win and that they would get in, Damien and Patrick stood in loose clothes, two school brooms in hands, while Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Elijah Johnston, lead chaser of the team, paced in front of them all.

"This year, we have two beater's positions to fill and a hope to win the Quidditch Cup for the first time in a few decades…even reaching the final would be a great achievement for us, and our first step towards the House Cup." Elijah started, already starting to get worked up.

All Damien could think, for some reason, was _'This guy is a lot like Wood'._

He had no idea who 'Wood' was, but shrugged it off as his imagination before snapping out of his daze, as he started to pick pairs to go and play for a while.

Patrick and Damien waited a good half hour, being the last up.

An hour later, it was announced that they had trounced their opponents and had clinched the Beater's positions with flare.

That night, they received their robes and a party was held in their honour.

Damien couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

_24th October, 1932_

After being sent new broomsticks by their Head of House (to their shock and pleasure, whenever they found the new Nimbus 700, the best broom on the market), the dynamic duo started to practice heavily for Quidditch, including lifting some (light) weights, building up gradually, and going out on runs, to improve general fitness and strength.

Their effort all led up to the day of the first Quidditch game of the year - Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.

Gryffindor hadn't beaten Slytherin for a good few years, and three-thirds of the school were rooting for the Champion's demise, dressed in red rosettes and face-paints, many holding banners.

Xiomara had painted a banner, originally with several inappropriate slogans about the Slytherins, however, she had changed it (after Minerva had started lecturing her about it) and now had a large sign saying 'Lions rule, Snakes drool!', flashing red and gold (with help from Minerva and her wide knowledge of spells).

Elizabeth had also gotten in the spirit, her own sign saying 'Lions tear apart the Snakes!', with a picture of a lion eating a snake on it, while Minerva herself had a sign saying 'Go Gryffindor Go!', done in the Muggle way, in red paint.

Anne and Sarah and opted for the face-painting and scarves option.

The beating duo were currently pacing in the changing rooms, clearly nervous, which was a change from their usually calm, playful and Patrick's once clearly shown emotions, which had changed to make him unfazed when insulted or mocked, had now returned in the current situation.

However, whenever the time came, and they flew out to the cheering of the crowd and the heartening sight of the signs held by their cheering friends, nervousness was all but forgotten, and commentator, Kevin Jordan, a young Gryffindor, took the advantage to begin commentating over the roaring crowd.

"FIRSTLY, FOR GRYFFINDOR, THE TEAM IS PETERS…JOHNSTON…LONGBOTTOM…PREWETT…MCGONAGALL…FLETCHER…AND WEASLEY!"

The booing Slytherin quarter of the stadium was drowned out by the roars, cheers and shouts of the other three-quarters of Gryffindor supporters.

"AND, FOR SLYTHERIN, THERE'S LESTRANGE…BLACK…MACNAIR…PARKINSON…CRABBE…GOYLE…AND NOTT!"

Jordan sounded as if he would rather be doing anything else than having to sound excited about announcing the Slytherin's arrival, however, rather professionally pulled it off (under the watchful gaze of Professor Dumbledore it must be stated).

Mr Wilkinson called over Johnston and Nott, the Slytherin Captain, over, and after ordering them to shake hands (which they done so quickly it was debated whether they actually touched the other's hand), let loose the Snitch, the Bludgers and threw up the Quaffle, beginning the game.

"AND THE GAME BEGINS! JOHNSTON IS UP AND MANAGES TO SNATCH THE QUAFFLE BEFORE BLACK! GREAT PLAY, GRYFFINDOR!"

"The game, Mr Jordan." Dumbledore chided lightly.

"Sorry, Professor." Johnston replied automatically, not sounding very sorry at all. "JOHNSTON HAS PASSED TO LONGBOTTOM, WHO HAS SHOT FORWARD AWAY FROM THE FORMATION, ENTERING THE SHOOTING AREA…HE DRAWS HIS ARM BACK…SHOOTS…HE SCORES! 10-0 TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Jordan was drowned out by the shouts from the stands, and Damien grinned before shooting off towards a bludgers about to hit Longbottom in retaliation.

He just managed to get to it and shot it at Crabbe, who had originally hit it, causing it to hit the boy in his hitting arm.

"SLYTHERIN BEATER CRABBE TRIES TO HIT SCORING LONGBOTTOM, AND HIT BY THE RETALIATING BLUDGER, HIT BY DAMIEN MCGONAGALL, SECOND-YEAR AND NEW BEATER THIS YEAR. THIS SURELY MUST BE A PENALTY…AND YES! A PENALTY FOR GRYFFINDOR FOR AN ATTACK ON THEIR CHASER…AND A PENALTY FOR SLYTHERIN FOR THE OFFENDING BLUDGER! WHAT AN ABOMINATION!"

"Mr Jordan…"

"Sorry, Professor."

Elijah had since taken his penalty, scoring neatly, while Black had missed by at least a foot, and was currently being shouted at by his friends.

"AND GRYFFINDOR IS IN THE SADDLE LEADING 20-0 IN THE FIRST FEW MINUTES. TALK ABOUT AN EXCITING GAME, EVERYONE. I HAVE THE FEELING THIS IS GOING TO GET NASTY!"

Jordan was definitely right about that.

The Slytherins, who were shocked to be losing already to the Gryffindors, began to play dirty, and Damien and Patrick had their work cut out to start hitting the bludgers back again, and harder than before.

At the half hour stage, it was 60-10 to Gryffindor, with Gryffindor Goalkeeper Peters having made some superb saves, Damien and Patrick shouting to each other, working well together as Beaters, causing a substitution due to injury, and the Chasers were still going strong, excelling themselves, all fired up and ready for Battle whenever everyone froze in place, watching Weasley and Nott diving towards the Snitch, arms outstretched.

Damien was about to be hit by a Bludger and instantly reacted, hitting it towards the speeding players.

Nott has pulled ahead with a smirk on his face, and was about to reach whenever he was knocked off-course by the lone Bludger, and Weasley, still going strong, reached and pulled the Snitch into his hand, holding it high above his head in victory.

There was shock for a second before the Gryffindors and others started shouting themselves hoarse, and Jordan was jumping up and down, shouting happily into the microphone.

"AND GRYFFINDOR WINS THANKS TO A BLUDGER FROM BEATER MCGONAGALL, GAINING GRYFFINDOR'S FIRST VICTORY IN SEVEN YEARS, THEIR FIRST OVER SLYTHERIN IN A DECADE, AND PUTTING THEM ONE STEP CLOSER TO THE QUIDDITCH CUP! GRYFFINDOR WINS! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The Gryffindor team had landed and started hugging each other and jumping up and down as if they had just won he World Cup, and they were soon engulfed by the shouting fans, each being pulled onto the shoulders of older students, and carried were carried towards the Gryffindor Common Room, where a large, thriving party lasted long into the night and early into the morning, whenever Professor Dumbledore came to send them all to bed, and, all wrecked, fell instantly asleep, still feeling the buzz on the day in their skin.

* * *

_18th June, 1933_

The Quidditch Final that year was between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Gryffindor coming in third with two wins and one defeat, and had missed playing in the final by points, however, this was an amazing jump, and a large party had been held to celebrate this, which still involved food from the kitchens and a large supply of butterbeer (and fire whiskey for the older students) readily available.

Damien was reallybeginning to like Gryffindor parties.

However,itwas on this day, on the morning afterthe party,that the Daily Prophet, the British Wizarding Paper, reported disturbing news.

A new Dark Lord was rising, and rising swiftly.

The Dark Lord Grindlewald, as he called himself, and his Dark Army, were attacking Muggle villages throughout Britain, with death tolls slowly moving into the thousands.

And the Aurors in the Ministry were slowly falling in number, while the number of the army was rising.

It wasn't good at all.

Several owls with black letters entered that morning, causing the Hall to fall into silence.

"What are those things?" Anne whispered in fear.

"Those are the bringers of death…news that a relative has died…there hasn't been one of those seen here in years." Patrick said quietly, watching the bird carefully as it circled over the students.

Dippet and Dumbledore, as had all the teachers, stood up solemnly, and the birds at last started to approach swooped down, two over Hufflepuff table, one over Ravenclaw and three over Gryffindor.

Damien's heart stopped as it spied him and started flying towards him, and his fears were confirmed whenever a black letter was dropped on the table before him.

Thankful that Minerva had not received it, the most comfort he received at the moment, he picked it up with shaking hands and opened it.

'_Mr McGonagall,_

_It is our sad duty to inform you of the passing of your Uncle, Derrick R. McGonagall, while on duty as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic during the Battle of Cheshire._

_He was a great man, and it is with deep condolences that we inform you of his death._

_He asked that you receive his texts and equipment, and they shall be sent ASAP via owl._

_With deep condolences for this tragic loss,_

_W. R. Bones,_

_Minister of Magic'_

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he bowed his head to hide his tears.

He hadn't seen his Uncle for many years, since he was four or five, but even then he still remembered the love the man had shown him, and how he had loved him. However, despite his pain, one thought repeated itself.

'_Uncle Derrick was a Wizard.'_

Minerva had since read the letter and was in shock, silently crying, and the two siblings were led away from the Hall by Professor Dumbledore.

Two days later, they attended a private ceremony for their Uncle they had never known, Demetrius himself near breakdown at the loss of his brother, who he had believed a Policeman who had attended a small boarding school named St. Augustus'…a lie his parents had fed him in shame of what his brother actually was, and had forbidden him from knowing the truth… and their mother pale and sickly looking as she stood beside his side, clutching his pale, shaky hand in his own.

It was with a vigour that he attacked the books given to him by his late Uncle, as well as sort through the equipment left to him, and over the Summer, pushed himself further - something in his mind told him that everything he learnt would one day come in use.

* * *

Another chapter, another year.

You didn't think I'd let them win the cup yet, did you:P

Also, the 'sixteenth year' will on July 31st of the year before his sixth year, because of his birthday as Harry Potter - this means only three or so chapters left until he goes back.

Yes, there is something wrong with Athena, but more shall be explained soon.

And the lost Uncle was a good twist, don't you think? I also wanted him to get Auror texts etc. and to be introduced to the idea of the black letters.

Let me know what you think :D


	7. Threats, Illness, Death and Quidditch

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Warnings - Swearing

Author Notes - Yes, I can take constructive criticism - it is actually rather refreshing - I must say, it is admittedly hard to think of things that should stand out - so, in light of this, this chapter will contain several flashes over the next couple few years of his life- making Harry Potter plain is pretty hard work, you know.

* * *

_1st February 1934_

Fate would always screw over Harry James Potter in some way or another.

Whether it be as Harry or Damien, Potter or McGonagall, 1995 or 1933, Fate always found a way to do it.

It guided, it helped, it healed, it destroyed and brought joy, hope, love, life and death to all within it's grasp.

But it seemed to find ways even _beyond_ this to put to it's use, especially for him.

Saving the world was one thing, but there was one other thing that was really trying to screw him over.

And that was boys hitting on his little sister.

And because of this (and thankfully, Minerva was completely and blissfully unaware to this small fact), Damien had threatened to castrate (very painfully) any young man who even attempted to do anything that she may dislike, or if they hurt her in any way, shape or form, with a very blunt knife.

Needless to say, no boy dared to hurt or annoy Minerva McGonagall.

However, it was on this day of Halloween that Damien had found that one young man had slipped through his grasps, one Jerry Chang, a very popular young man with a way with the girls. He was very arrogant, a third-year, and grated on Damien's nerves in his Ancient Runes class, which he unfortunately shared with him.

This, he found out, whenever he found Minerva in tears and barely able to form words, and Sarah trying to comfort her, while explaining the situation.

Apparently, he had admitted to her that he liked her, and then she had found him with another girl, sprouting the same sweet talk and laughing about her.

And Damien, despite not carrying out his castration threat, had bloodied and broken the boy's nose, along with matching black eyes, which he could swear blind made the boy look like a raccoon.

Chang never lived it down (as many who had taken pictures with glee repeatedly shoved them under his nose), and those who had never taken his warnings seriously before had now learnt to never piss off Damien McGonagall.

* * *

_22nd December, 1934_

Damien McGonagall was a highly respected young man amongst both staff and students.

The students saw him as a carefree, friendly, handsome and intelligent young man, who happily tutored younger years (and helped older students with Charms, Defence and Transfiguration) with no complaint. He was seen as the protector of Muggles, Muggleborns, Half-Bloods and 'Blood-Traitors', and part of the 'Destructive Duo', the star Beaters of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

The staff saw him as a bright light amongst the students, his clear thirst for knowledge, love of books and natural ability at all subjects (his three best being Charms, Defence and Transfiguration) making him every teacher's dream student. He gladly helped classmates, answered questions (although not all the time) and excelled in practical and theoretical work.

So much so that in his best three subjects he was given advanced lessons by Professors Moody, Dumbledore and Flitwick, who also took it upon themselves to teach him how to duel, and how to make the use of his talents.

However, it was on this day, three days before the Christmas of 1934, that something happened that would see several changes in the boy, making him more of a man than a child.

The McGonagall's were home for Christmas, and Damien and Minerva had been called downstairs by their father, who had been in charge while their mother had been out at her sister's house for a few days, where she had been since before they came home.

The two had been surprised, but had shrugged it off, and as they entered the room and sat down, catching sight of their father's solemn face, they knew something was wrong…very wrong.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked, unable to stand the tense silence.

"It's…it's your mother…she's…she's…" Demetrius said, his voice cracking.

"She's what?" Minerva prompted.

"She's very ill at the moment. She's been ill for a long time, but recently it became so serious that she had to go to the hospital for a check-up…she's been there ever since…they ran a lot of tests on her, and were puzzled until one doctor, a specialist, found the problem…they said that she had…that she had breast cancer…and that, because they have caught it so late, it has spread…"

Demetrius paused, emotion catching his voice for a few seconds.

"The doctors aren't very optimistic…they say that she has a few months at the most…her condition has deteriorated dramatically over the last few months…that's why I started to write the letters for her, and got sympathetic furlough."

Damien felt as though a weight had been dropped on her stomach, and he tried to understand, but his mind was too dazed to do any such thing.

He was too shocked to try and stop the tears running blindingly down his face.

He was too shocked to try and stifle his sobs.

He was too shocked to sense the small sense of familiarity he felt in such grief, however, the feeling of knowing that she was suffering terrible pain and that he could do nothing about it, and knowing that she would die, was by far worse, and he desperately hugged a sobbing Minerva, who in turn clung to their father.

Carefree times would seem, too soon for children so young, a thing of the past, and pain too fresh in their minds the present and the future would hold for them.

* * *

_3rd January, 1935_

Damien and Minerva sat solemnly at Gryffindor table for the beginning of term feast, drowning out their friend's concerned and questioning glances and talking quietly amongst themselves.

Seeing their mother so pale and weak in the Hospital on that Christmas Eve afternoon, which seemed to be taunting them with sunny skies, hot temperatures and the cheerful shouts of young children waiting for the miracles of Christmas to come upon them raining gifts into their homes, under their large Christmas trees, and small delights in their stockings, was a painful and shocking experience.

They had not been allowed to enter her private room even, and had to enter the ward in protective garments, looking at her through a window.

A Christmas miracle would not happen for the McGonagall's that year.

Presents seemed dire and unimportant, stockings meaningless and the hopes of something special mundane.

The only miracle they had wanted that year was for their mother to get better…but it was untreatable. The doctor had told them that no method had been found to help treat cancer in any form.

Damien had desperately searched his books on magic, to find anything that could work, but, as he had read, wizards and did not suffer from such Muggle diseases, and Muggleborn witches and wizards who had become healers had not yet found a potion that could work with Muggles.

And so, dejected and silent, the McGonagall's had returned to Hogwarts.

Damien, who was usually so attentive during Dippet's speeches, stared into space, and whenever the food was served out, he moved the food around his plate with his fork.

He had not eaten properly since _that_ day.

His stomach and head felt the dread that his mother would die, and die soon, and anything he had tried to eat had been brought up again.

It was safe to assume that eating something now wouldn't help.

"Demon? What's up with you?" Patrick asked gently, seeming so different from his usual emotions-the-depth-of-a-teaspoon approach to everything.

He was shocked whenever he met Damien's eyes, glazed with tears.

"My mum's really sick…I just…I just don't want to talk about it."

His bowed head hid his tears, but his shaking back gave them away in a heartbeat.

Elizabeth and Anne, sitting opposite, looked at Damien, having heard the conversation, in shock and pity, and together, the quartet left the Hall, followed soon by the third-year trio.

* * *

_28th March, 1935_

Damien knew that she was going to die.

He had tried to prepare himself, but preparing for the death of a loved one was near laughable.

The young man hadn't laughed in months.

Quidditch, once been a fun past-time, had morphed slowly into a way to release his pent up emotions and fear, not that he would ever admit that he was scared.

Pranks, yet another fun past-time, had been completely drowned out of his life, his free-time now spent looking up large medical books, incase there was even one small thing that could help.

He had searched with no success.

His training was proving very successful, his emotions transformed into determination to so as well as he could. He started to practice martial arts once again with Moody, quick to come back into his championship-winning form, as well as, surprisingly, he was starting to win in duels again Professor Flitwick, who was admittedly the weakest of the three.

He was rather proud of this fact, however, and he worked even harder afterwards, despite his friend's obvious concern that he was overdoing it. They were always concerned for him.

Also, his protectiveness of Minerva and the Muggleborn/Half-Blood/Blood Traitors had increased dramatically, and any person who so much as looked at them wrong found themselves at the end of his frayed temper and his dangerous wand.

And this was only to increase after that day, whenever Damien found himself dressed in a black suit, a soft black shirt underneath, a black tie securely placed around his neck and shining black shoes upon his feet. His black hair had been tamed to the fullest extent it could, making it only slightly messy, shining thanks to the gel placed in it.

He had woken up early that morning and sat alone by the fire, lovingly stroking Azrael's soft black and grey fur to try and take his mind of what was to come later that day.

Today was the day that they returned to home via Portkey for an event that the small McGonagall family had dreaded for several months.

The funeral of Athena McGonagall.

_**1234567890**_

The duo landed inside their small kitchen, which was laying in a state of disarray that not even ever-orderly Minerva noticed nor cared for.

"Dad?" Damien called out, his voice raw, as was his throat.

In response, Demetrius came into the kitchen, dressed in his own suit and shining shows.

"I'm here…there's a car outside, to take us to the church…we should go."

Without word, they followed him.

_**1234567890**_

The drive to the church was short, but seemed like an eternity times two for Damien, who looked nowhere but at his shoes.

He was barely aware of getting out and standing in the cold wind, following the coffin and pallbearers into the small church.

He was barely aware of the sympathetic looks he was receiving from the mourners as he followed the coffin, his head still bowed.

He was barely aware of standing next to his Aunt, who was crying freely, and the service itself, until the Priest was asked if anyone would like to say a few words.

Damien stood up at this, his stiff shoes squeaking on the ground and his gentle footsteps echoing even in such a small space as he made his way onto the podium, unfolding a piece of paper from his inside breast pocket.

"I-it was hard to think of something I could say." He said, before clearing his throat, trying to make it sound less gruff and raw.

He wasn't successful.

"They say that no parent should ever have to bury their child…no child should ever have to bury their parents."

He took a calming breath before continuing.

"My mother was a strong woman. She was brave and smart, funny and kind, loving and helpful, caring and, to put it simply, amazing. She was never afraid to put forward her belief of something if she thought it was right, and held no fear over doing so. You were never afraid to go to her for help, because she was just so accepting, and truly believed in redemption for what we have done wrong.

"I came across a quote once. 'Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life'. My mother never deserved to die…she never deserved the pain that came with it… but it happened, and we can do nothing about it, no matter how much we wish, pray and cry. But she will always be with us in spirit. She will always be watching over us, and we will never loose her. Her body may perish, but her spirit will live on amongst us all, in out hearts. She will never truly leave us…"

He blinked furiously as he stepped down off of the podium, unaware that his short speech had made a big impact on the mourners that day. Tears still ran freely, but the daggers stabbing many souls seemed less blunt that day.

Athena was watching over him with a small smile on her face, and on some level, she knew, he felt her presence soothing him.

_**1234567890**_

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The priest said quietly, concluding the service, and as the mourners slowly left, the McGonagall family stayed on, surrounding her grave and laying several flowers upon the fresh soil.

Demetrius, taking out a handkerchief, wiped a bit of soil from his gravestone.

'_In loving memory of Athena Minerva McGonagall_

_Daughter, sister, wife, mother_

_19th June 1901 - 25th March 1935_

_Aged 33 years'_

Damien hugged a sobbing Minerva tightly, trying to comfort her, once again, even slightly.

He was unable to do so.

Demetrius was trying to wipe his tears away as he stared blankly at the stone which marked his wife's resting place.

Damien slowly led Minerva away, to let their father deal with his grief alone, and together they walked back to the house, which they left several days later, to return to Hogwarts.

* * *

_31st May, 1935_

A little over two months had passed since the funeral.

Damien, who had stopped working just as hard as he slowly started to work past his grief thanks to his friends, who left him the option of talking to them but never pressuring him into such a thing, which he had taken gratefully.

It brought him and his friends even closer than before.

Today, however, was a day whenever he felt all his grim feelings leave him, replaced with nervousness.

Today was the day of the deciding match for the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw.

And since most the Gryffindor Quidditch Team were leaving at the end of the year, they desperately wanted to win.

It was revving up to be an exciting game, and as Damien paced the changing room, Johnston entered quietly, only saying, "Let's do it" with a steely determination shown in the stance and eyes of the Gryffindor team.

"WELCOME ALL TO THE LAST QUIDDITCH GAME OF THE SEASON, THE DECIDING GAME OF THE YEAR, GRYFFINDOR VS. RAVENCLAW!"

The school roared, half in red and gold (Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs), the others in blue and bronze (Ravenclaws and Slytherins). Many banners were being held up, and even the teachers were in the spirit, Dumbledore and Flitwick having made a friendly bet on the outcome of the match, much to everyone's amusement, especially since Dumbledore had opened a betting pool.

The odds were in Ravenclaws favour,

"THIS IS THE LAST YEAR OF THE BEST GRYFFINDOR TEAM IN MANY YEARS, WHO ARE CURRENTLY FLYING OUT. WE HAVE PETERS…JOHNSTON…PREWETT…LONGBOTTOM…FLETCHER…MCGONAGALL…AND WEASLEY!"

The cheers, shouts and hoots from the Gryffindor section increased, drowning out the boos from the other end.

"AND FOR RAVENCLAW WE THERE IS CORNER…BOOT…DAVIES…MCDOUGAL…QUIRKE…MCDOUGAL…AND CHANG!"

The Ravenclaw section's cheers increased.

Mr Wilkinson strode into the middle of the pitch after the warm-up laps, and Johnston and Davies, the Ravenclaw Captain, shook hands friendlily (the two were friends) before the balls were released, the players shot up and the match began.

"AND RAVENCLAW GET THE FIRST QUAFFLE…DAVIES TO BOOT…BOOT TO MCDOUGA-PREWETT GRABS THE QUAFFLE AT MIDWAY AND CHARGES UP THE FIELD…HE'S ABOUT TO BE HIT BY A BLUDGER!…BUT HE'S PASSED TO LONGBOTTOM…DAVE LONGBOTTOM FLIES QUICKLY INTO THE SHOOTING AREA…HE SHOOTS…HE SCORES! 10-0 IN GRYFFINDOR'S FAVOUR! TAKE THAT YOU TOO-SMART-FOR…"

"Mr Jordan." Dumbledore interrupted.

"Sorry, Professor. Anyways…THE QUAFFLE IS PUT INTO PLAY AGAIN…DAVIES IS CLEARLY FRAZZLED BY THE LION'S EARLY LEAD AND SHOOTS DOWN THE FIELD…HE'S NEATLY DODGED A BLUDGER HIT BY FLETCHER…HE SHOOTS…AND PETERS SAVES THE DAY WITH A SUPERB SAVE. STILL 10-0 TO GRYFFINDOR."

However, the cheers suddenly were averted to the Seekers as Weasley shot down suddenly, Chang desperately following him as he shot across the pitch.

Damien grinned to himself as he noticed Weasley leading him away from the Snitch which had only been a few metres behind him.

And Weasley pulled off a very nice Wronski Feint, much to his credit, although Chang managed (unfortunately, Jordan stated) to pull up before crashing.

There was polite applause, and the game got into swing once again.

_**1234567890**_

Two hours in and still no Snitch was in sight.

The score of the breakneck match was 210-180 in favour of Ravenclaw, and both teams were obviously exhausted.

Damien and Patrick were currently hitting bludgers as hard as they could at the opposition, to try and take any of their players out of action, and had just missed taking out McDougal by a few inches.

In return, Damien was currently rushing after a bludger aimed at Weasley, who hadn't noticed it quite yet.

He shot in front of the boy and brought his bat back, a soft thud reaching his ears before he brought it forward full force, hitting it safely away.

"GRYFFINDOR BEATER MCGONAGALL, AS HE THROWS BACK HIS BAT TO HIT A BLUDGER AIMED AT SEEKER WEASLEY, HIT'S THE SNITCH AND SENDS IT NEATLY INTO WEASLEY'S AWAITING HANDS! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON THE QUIDDITCH CUP FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO DECADES! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON 330 - 210! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON!"

These words were ringing in his ears as he turned around and saw Weasley, Snitch in hand, flying towards him, his red hair glistening in sweat and his red face flushed in delight, and he pulled him into a one-armed hug.

They landed together and were engulfed firstly by the members of the team, all of whom were near crying and jumping up and down in ecstasy, and lastly by the supporters, who were shouting themselves hoarse and also jumping up and down, and they lifted each member of the team upon their shoulders and moved them over and onto the raised platform, where Armando Dippet stood, cup in hand, and handed it over to Johnston, who was near crying in joy, who held it sweetly in the air before passing it along to Weasley, Longbottom, Prewett, Peters, Patrick and, finally, to himself.

He raised it above his head as the roar grew even louder, and savouring this moment of pure joy and bliss, savouring the roar of the crowd, savouring the sight of his friends jumping up and down, their banners and Gryffindor flags waved around madly, savouring the sight of the first true smile, grin and happy moment that his sister had had for a long time, unaware his friends and sister were thinking the same about him.

He savoured each moment.

The team, after handing the cup to an overjoyed Dumbledore, were once again put onto the shoulders of their housemates, and were slowly led up to the largest, loudest, wildest and best party that Gryffindor had and would see for many years to come.

Every cloud has a silver lining, and this one was Fate's.

* * *

I was having such a block with this, I was worried how long it would take to get a chapter out, but, strangely enough, my inspiration was going from midnight to, the time I've finished at, twenty to two.

I'm very pleased with this chapter.

This was his third and fourth years.

His fifth year will have the war mentioned (perhaps even some attacks)and, at the end, his going back to his normal time.

What I'm thinking about right now is how he'll tell Minerva…that'll definitely be interesting.

I know Athena's death was sudden, but illness was shown through hints during the earlier chapters (which one very perceptive reviewer pointed out).

(Btw, I'm going on holiday until the end of July, hence why there won't be any updates before then (unless I have another one up before Sunday...it is Tuesday now...so you never know...but just a warning incase)

Let me know what you think.


	8. Hogsmeade, a Ball, OWLs and Leaving

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Warnings - Swearing

Author Notes - Thanks to all my reviewers! Your reviews make my day! And also just to say that this is the last chapter before he goes back (any suggestions of how he tells Minerva are very welcome), and I'd like to thank Maxennce for their hilarious review…your comment about Jerry Chan was brilliant, and I totally agree. I loved writing it, let me tell you.

I think I've got a little confused about dates, because he'll be going back into his sixth year…someone mentioned about returning to his fifth, and I just realised…he's to go back to 1996 - thanks to the reviewer who said about that.

It will be 1936 when he leaves and 1996 when he returns.

* * *

_1st September, 1935_

Once again, Damien McGonagall entered the grounds of Hogwarts, his Quidditch Captain and Prefect badges, awarded to him in the summer of 1935, glinting in the soft moonlight resonating onto the moving swarm of students that night.

After managing to dodge resident poltergeist Peeves' water balloons, although the ghost, for some reason, respected and slightly feared Damien, and would never target him, the septet took their seats at Gryffindor table, watching the Sorting attentively and clapping happily for each new Gryffindor announced by the Sorting Hat, before joining in with the school song, Damien and Patrick singing loudly to the tune 'She'll be coming 'round the mountain', which was soon joined in by the surrounding students in a loud chorus.

Finally, Professor Dippet, who had been singing with the students to the tune of 'whistle while you work', rose grandly from his chair, his eyes slightly darker, more haunted even, than usual with his robes, a dark green, differing from his usual lighter shades of yellow and the likes.

"Welcome once again to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As usual, we begin with the start-of-term notices, which I stress to you all to please listen to carefully, and take in."

The students fell completely silent at these words. It seemed rather unlike the man to look or speak as solemnly as he was now.

"Dark times have befallen us, with Grindlewald's reign of terror slowly spreading over Great Britain and Wizarding Europe. For these reasons, if outside of the Castle, students must be together in groups of no less than two. The more the better, and the safer you shall be if you stick together in large groups."

He surveyed them all closely while pausing for breath. There were several nervous shivers from the younger years.

"Now, there are several new additions to Mr Filch's forbidden items list, which can be found posted outside his office. The Forbidden Forest, it should be noticed, is strictly and completely out-of-bounds, as is wandering around at night, and magic in the corridors is also prohibited. A final note is that Mr Wilkinson asks that the Quidditch Captains see him for practice rotas and keys to the store.

"Also, it is my pleasure to announce the first Halloween Ball in many years will take place at Hogwarts."

There were several murmurs of excitement around the Hall, and the man's eyes lit up slightly.

"Unfortunately, this is only for fourth-years and above, but lower-years can be asked to attend. Younger years shall also have parties in their own Common Rooms, which shall begin slightly later and end slightly earlier, as our own ball runs until midnight."

A section of third-year girls groaned, much to the man's amusement, before he clapped his hands together.

"And now, let the feast begin."

_**1234567890**_

"Dippet looked really…depressed would be the right word, I guess." Elizabeth said thoughtfully, reaching over for some chicken legs from the platter next to her.

"There's a war going on…and I bet the Ministry is piling the work onto him. The Minister is completely incompetent if you ask me." Patrick commented with his mouth full of mashed potato.

Elizabeth looked at him in disgust, and slowly wiped some potato off of her face.

Anne scrunched up her nose.

"That was really disgusting, Patrick." She told him, handing Elizabeth a napkin.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"That's alright. But just don't spit it over me if you're going to keep doing it! If anything, spit it over Demon."

Damien looked at her, mock offended, a hand over his heart.

"Thanks, Liz."

"Not a problem, Demon." She near-smirked.

He rolled his eyes and continued eating, unaware of his friend's shared glances.

He was slowly turning back into the Damien they knew and loved.

That brought small smiles to their faces, and they continued to eat, their hearts lighter than before.

_**1234567890**_

"So, is everyone looking forward to the Ball?" Xiomara asked, laying down on a two-seater chair and refusing to get up to allow Sarah to sit down (she then sat on her legs, much to everyone's amusement bar Xiomara, who reluctantly moved and sat up straight).

"Definitely. It sounds like it could be great. And I heard that Professor Moody was chaperoning." Minerva voiced, twirling her wand around in her fingers, a habit she picked up from Damien.

"I bet you'd have thought it would have been even better if Professor Dumbledore had taken the job." Xiomara voiced teasingly. This earned her a sharp kick in the shins.

She yelped.

Minerva blushed beat red, and Damien raised an eyebrow.

"Is there something we should know?" He enquired.

Xiomara grinned wickedly and was about to say something whenever Sarah silenced her with a look.

"Nothing." Sarah smiled innocently.

She glanced at Xiomara with a look that clearly said 'Agree-or-you-will-suffer-a-painful-death', and, catching this, the girl nodded.

Damien looked at Minerva, disbelieving and amused, and could barely hold back a grin.

"You have a crush on _Dumbledore_!" He asked incredulously.

Minerva sent a scathing glare at Xiomara, who looked away.

"It's nothing…" She mumbled.

"Nothing, my neck!" Patrick near-shouted, causing half of the occupants in the Common Room to fall silent and look at him.

The group looked at him, exasperated.

"Sorry." He sighed. "Nothing to see or hear people...get back to your gossiping." He said louder, and they continued their conversations.

They still looked at him.

"What can I say?" He grinned. "It's a little bit of Fletcher Magic."

Damien patted his friend sympathetically on the back.

"You just believe that."

Patrick glared jokingly at him and swatted his hand away before diving at him.

Damien, who had very sharp reflexes, moved out of the way, causing him to fly over and behind the chair, landing with a soft thud.

Concerned whenever his friend didn't automatically get up, Damien leant over the chair, finding himself pulled down by a grinned Patrick, and pinned to the ground.

"Check and mate." He laughed, before he was kicked off and Damien pinned him neatly.

"You were saying?"

* * *

_2nd September_

Their first OWL classes that year had consisted of lengthy speeches about the exams, and the effects that they would no doubt have on their lives, before bulky homeworks assigned.

The OWL pressure was beginning.

Damien had just managed to finish the homework assigned that day (Transfiguration, Charms and History of Magic) before he had to go on his first Prefect duty with Anne, the female Gryffindor Prefect, bar showing the first-years to their dorms the previous day.

The two had duty from nine o'clock to eleven o'clock, before the sixth-years took the eleven to one shift.

Damien had thought that being a Prefect would be a little less…dull.

But then again, the students for the Astronomy Tower wouldn't go this early in the year, and the bullies who targeted young, lost students were most likely fast asleep.

Overall, however, this was looking to be one hell of a year.

* * *

_22nd September_

The month had passed rather slowly, the fifth-years already feeling the pressure of the OWL examinations.

However, on this sunny Saturday afternoon, Damien escaped such pressures, and was instead holding, along with Patrick, the only other remaining player on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Quidditch trials, to find three chasers, a goalkeeper and a seeker.

Honestly, the two were in for a long day, judging by the sheer amounts of people.

"LISTEN UP EVERYONE!" Damien said, his voice amplified several times by a sonorous charm.

"ANYONE WHO WANTS TO TRY OUT FOR SEEKER, GO OVER TO BY LEFT…ANYONE FOR CHASER, IN FRONT OF ME…ANYONE FOR KEEPER ON MY RIGHT…YOU ARE ALLOWED TO TRY FOR MULTIPLE POSITIONS, AND SINCE WE'RE DOING THEM ONE AT A TIME, YOU'LL GET A CHANCE, SO THOSE IN THAT GROUP WHO WANT TO TRY FOR CHASER GO TO THE CHASERS, WHO WE WILL BE STARTING WITH FIRST. EVERYONE ELSE GO AND TAKE A SEAT IN THE STANDS."

Around half of the students left, leaving around twenty chaser candidates.

"Ok." He continued, his sonorous charm now taken off. "I want you all to line up, alphabetical order by surname, please. Give Patrick your names, and then you will go up and attempt to try and score as many goals as you can out of twenty, against me. Then, come down and tell him your score. But first, I want you to have a warm-up flight, so get going."

The hopefuls took off, allowing Damien to walk over to Patrick.

"And this is where we see if they can fly well." Patrick said aloud. "I must say, a rather ingenious plan."

"I was rather proud of the idea." Damien grinned. "Do you recognise anyone there?"

"Well…that's Xiomara…and Minerva!" He said in shock and, true enough, the two were flying around.

Damien was rather shocked.

"Xiomara must have dragged her along…she'd never do this of her own free choice."

"Well…you better save all the goals as you can, or people will be thinking you play favourites."

Damien frowned, but nodded in agreement.

_**1234567890**_

"HOOCH, XIOMARA!" Patrick yelled, causing several people in front of him to wince.

He grinned apologetically before watching the girl take off, Quaffle in hand.

He hoped she did better than the others…Damien was an outstanding keeper, and the most scored had been a measly seven.

But then again, most of them weren't very good.

One had fallen off and had broken a wrist, another couldn't fly at all, and, well, he didn't even want to get started on how young Peter Longbottom had done…the boy was just plain accident-prone.

Xiomara, paused inside outside the scoring area before Damien gave her the nod to start, and she shot forward, swerving, feinting and the likes, and her first shot, a neat lob, was just tipped over the top of the hoop by Damien.

Another lob, a feint, a back-handed throw…there were so many different types of shot the girl played.

She had made it very difficult for him, and had managed to get fourteen past him.

After several more candidates, a third-year boy, Thomas Weasley, scored twelve.

After several more, Minerva flew up, and he prepared himself.

Basic male pride clearly stated that little sister should not whip big brother's arse in anything, especially in sport.

Little sister shot a cool fifteen goals out of twenty past him, and no-one could say that he made it easy for her. If anything, he had been the hardest on her, and had really pushed himself. But she really was just that good.

After the Chasers had finished, Damien and Patrick then took their three selected Chasers, Minerva, Xiomara and Thomas, and instructed them to shoot 20 goals at the ten Keeper hopefuls.

Their salvation came in James Mahaffy, a third-year (and good friend of Thomas), who saved sixteen goals.

And finally, for seeker, they selected Matthew Redpath. He was not the first to the Snitch, coming in a very close second, however, he had a longer lasting ability than the first, a natural coolness under pressure and a keener eye than their first-place, and after a lot of deliberation, he was been selected.

The new Gryffindor Quidditch Team had been formed and theywere clearly on a mission to win the cup again.

* * *

_31st October, 1935_

The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was on Halloween.

It was admittedly hard to leave the mouth-watering smell of pumpkin pies which was once again, as like every year, wafting through the corridors.

However, somehow, the seven managed to drag themselves away, and after waiting anxiously in the long queue at the door, and, finally passing the scrutinising inspection of Filch and his cat (lovingly named Mrs Norris), hurried to a carriage, which started moving along at a steady trot as soon as Anne closed the door as was comfortably seated.

They were all in thick jackets, gloves and hats, the incredibly bitter day very biting on naked skin that dared peeked out from beneath coat, glove, hat or sock.

Whenever they arrived, the bitter cold drew them to flee into the warm (and very packed) stores, firstly venturing into Honeydukes.

It had been there for many years, but no-one could stop feeling a child-like excitement whenever they entered the store. It truly was like a dream-come-true, especially for Muggleborns, who had dreamt of such things their whole lives.

They left a half-hour later with their money bags considerably lighter than before.

They also ventured into several other stores, only browsing, before they entered Gladrags Wizardwear, which was bustling with students desperately looking for dress-robes.

Damien ducked away from his friends, to search in the second-hand robe section, which was a lot less crowded than the main section.

In his ever-showing kindness and generosity, he had wordlessly given Minerva a handful of his saved-up galleons, sickles and knuts, definitely enough to buy a nice dress-robe plus matching accessories that he knew girls needed, before he had left.

He had sensed her shocked eyes on him as he blended into the crowd.

He went through the rack slowly, trying the find a pair he liked.

About half-way through, a woman with a small nametag on her lapel entered, and smiled kindly at him.

"Hello, young man. Do you need a hand?" She asked.

He looked at her, a helpless expression on his face.

She laughed, his question wordlessly answered, and started to look at him closely.

"You have lovely eyes." She commented.

He smiled and thanked her quietly, blushing slightly.

"I think that a dark blue would work well…yes, definitely…let me see what I can find."

Several minutes later, whenever his hope was near gone, she came from the other side of the rack, a large smile on her face, a pair of dark blue robes in hand.

He immediately took a liking to them.

They were obviously made of a nice material, and had silver trimmings running around them.

"These were brought back, unused. Apparently, the person found a another for a better price…" she scoffed. "Anyway, do you like them?"

He nodded wordlessly.

"Although you'll probably want to know more about them before you buy them…let's see…made of silk…several charms by the original maker are in place, to prevent rips, tears and the likes. Self-cleaning, and weather-resistant. They are also adjustable to temperature, so you don't swelter up, and I can adjust the length to fit you."

He admittedly had no clue about shopping or fashion in general, but it did sound like a good deal. The only problem was how much. Even for second-hand they must be expensive.

"Before you would measure me up, how much are these robes? They look really expensive, and I haven't got much…"

"This is the two galleon rack…now around fifteen Muggle pounds due to the inflation rates. We base our prices for this section around Muggle clothes stores, for clothes in similar conditions. Hence why this is such a good bargain…second-hand clothes can actually be very nice. So, would you like them?"

Still wordless, and in disbelief, he nodded once again, and she led him over to get measured.

Five minutes later he left the second-hand section to find his friends, having also purchased smart, shining black shoes and a shining silver clip for the accompanying cloak, still shocked at such a great bargain.

He had no idea that the woman had seen his generosity to Minerva and had taken a set of robes from the front of the store that she knew would fit him, and that she was sure he would like.

Good deeds and kindness really can be rewarding.

_**1234567890**_

Damien and Patrick waited several minutes for the girls before, admittedly, getting rather fed-up and bored, having no idea what would take such a long time.

"Min, we're going to head on to the Three Broomsticks, to get us a table." Damien called, and after receiving a affirmative that the group would meet there, the duo left.

A bitter coldness, stronger and more deceptive than the cold just ten minutes ago hit them.

It swept past their many layers with practiced ease, striking them within their hearts, souls and their very cores, grabbing a hold of any joy they may possess and trying to rip it violently away, trying to distract the victims by pushing forward their worst memories into the mind's eye.

Damien, having fallen to his knees, witnessed, once again, his father telling him about his mother, his mother in a hospital bed so weak and pale, the news of her death, her funeral…

He shook his head, trying to ignore the tears of ice frozen on his face.

"D-D-Dementors." Damien stuttered in fear, trying, in vain, to reach his wand.

He turned to face Patrick, only to come face-to-face with the foulest creature that degraded the Wizarding World, floating in from the slums of the earth, where they lived in the sickening glory of death and decay.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a fallen Patrick slowly being approach by hooded figure, which had lowered its hood, obviously going to kiss him.

The Dementor which had gone after him grabbed him forcefully, it's own hood down.

He struggled to remain conscious, and watched in horror as the creature was about to clamp it's grey-scaly jaw around his mouth, whenever he felt a flicker of something in his mind, and he pulled out his wand in new hope, pointing it right in the creature's mouth.

Conjuring the euphoria of the moment he lifted the Quidditch Cup the previous year, which filled him with adrenaline and a small bead of hope, he shut his eyes and yelled "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

To his shock and surprise, a silver dog leapt from it, grim-like and shining silver, making the Dementor drop him and flee.

"O-Over there!" He yelled, pointed to Patrick, who was seconds away from having his soul sucked out.

The dog quickly changed direction and charged towards Patrick, knocking the Dementor in the stomach with it's mighty paws, causing it to flee away from him and drop him with a mighty thud.

He was bordering on passing out as the Dementors fled, another ten or so being chased in the same direction by the mighty dog, and as it came back and lay down next to him, licking his face with it's corporal silver tongue, he whispered "Padfoot…" to himself, before entering the clasps of unconsciousness that had eagerly awaited him since the Dark Creatures had arrived.

_**1234567890**_

He drifted slowly back from the world of dreams, aware of the slowly building crescendo of voices around him.

"How…Dementors…fought…?"

"…don't know…Dumbledore?"

"Your brother…Patronus…strong…saved students…just entered…don't worry…be ready for dance…bag found…"

He cracked an eye open, almost flinching at the bright ceiling above him, as well as the sudden smell of disinfectant that hit him like a brick.

"Would someone mind getting me a glass of water?" He croaked into the now silent room, his throat parched and raw.

There was a flurry of sound, and, after a few seconds, he sat up and thankfully took the outstretched glass, grateful for the cool liquid.

Finishing it quickly, he set it down upon his bedside table and finally turned to see his friends, plus Professor Dumbledore, sitting around him.

Dumbledore sensed his unease and began to speak.

"Today, Lord Grindlewald ordered a group of rogue Dementors to attack Hogsmeade, in the hope of catching us unprepared and obviously wanting to make a big impact."

Damien's heart sank. Had anyone been kissed? Or hurt?

"Unfortunately, although fortunately for us, the first people they came across were yourself and Mr Fletcher. From the sightings of your friends, who observed from a locked-down Gladrags, two Dementors found you and were about to perform the Kiss whenever you managed to get your wand and produce a corporal Patronus. This made the Dementor flee, as well as the one you ordered your Patronus to attack. It then rounded up the others and chased them away into the countryside before it returned to you and faded as you passed out. Do you remember this?"

Damien's face scrunched up in thought, his memories, unusually, only stretching to the point whenever he was in the Dementor's clutches. He told Dumbledore this.

The man nodded slightly.

"It was perhaps the trauma of the situation…you have fine instinct to conjure a Patronus under such conditions, even if you don't remember such a thing…however, away from such demoralising events, Gryffindor has been awarded fifty points for your actions and, thankfully, you have been classed as fine and able to go to our Ball tonight…but not before, as I have been ordered, to give you this."

The man held out several large bars of Honeydukes chocolate.

"You must eat this all, or Madam Laurence will have my head on a platter." He smiled, and Damien cracked a small grin.

"I will, Professor. Thanks."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling once again.

"Not a problem, Damien. Although I must insist you call me Albus in private. We see each other so much, after all, and I personally hate being called Professor…it makes me feel rather old, I'm afraid."

Damien hid a laugh.

"Um…ok…thanks Albus."

It felt unusual to say.

"Again not a problem. I hope to see you later."

The man then left the Hospital Wing, and Damien counted down from three under his breath before his friends started to ask questions.

He rolled his eyes but laughed, answering them while sharing around some of his chocolate.

_**1234567890**_

At a quarter to eight, Damien and Patrick were both pacing in the Gryffindor Common Room, which had been emptied long ago by students apparently eager to wait for the eight o'clock opening a long time beforehand, to mingle and to find their dates.

Both of the boys were going stag that night, and looked very sharp.

Damien was wearing his blue dress-robes with the silver trimmings, as well as his now broken-in black shoes (due to his pacing). He had obviously attempted to tame his hair again, although it was hard without gel, which he disliked greatly. It was also hard to get out of his hair…there was no winning with his hair, Minerva had commented jokingly one day.

She was definitely right about that.

Patrick, meanwhile, was in soft red dress-robes, with gold trimmings, with matching shoes to Damien's. His own shaggy hair had been neatly combed, and Damien thought he looked rather like a Wizarding James Bond, minus the gun, the car and the torrents of women.

However, both stopped pacing whenever the girls came, one-by-one, down the stairs from the girls' dormitories.

Xiomara was the first, adorning aqua blue dress-robes with small brown snitches on it and her hair, usually short and spiky, had been grown-out and placed into an elegant bun.

Sarah followed her, her robes similar although lavender, with small flowers of dark purple noticeable around them, working well with Xiomara's blue. Her own hair was in bun, although it was much looser than her counterpart's.

Anne came next, with robes of dandelion yellow, with a matching dandelion flower at the lapel. Her mousy-brown hair was pulled up into two pig-tails, looped together at the top.

Elizabeth, her hair tamed and two plaits at the back of her head, was dressed in robes of pastel pink, with purple and pink flowers intricate delicately around it, and were thankfully not too shocking a shade.

And finally, Minerva came down, and Damien's jaw dropped as he surveyed his little sister, who had so suddenly in his mind become a young woman.

Her own robes were forest green with gold trimmings, simply but truly elegant, and they fit her perfectly. Her shoes, he vaguely noticed, were dark green, and peaked out from the bottom of her robes. Her hair, usually down, was pulled into a single plait at the back of her head.

If this wasn't enough, her porcelain skin was covered with delicately-done make-up, some light eye-shadow and some make-up for her lips that he couldn't identify adding to her overall beauty.

Behind the know-it-all exterior of Minerva McGonagall, a hidden beauty had been dormant, finally released, in all it's glory, that cloudless night.

He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling, before addressing them all.

"All of you lovely young ladies look very beautiful tonight."

They all blushed at his compliment.

He winked at Patrick.

Patrick raised an eyebrow by returned the gesture.

"So we shall accompany you to your dates…" Damien continued gallantly, bowing before them.

They grinned at him and he held out two arms, taken by Minerva and Sarah, while Patrick took Anne, Xiomara and Sarah.

_**1234567890**_

The girls soon left to find their dates, although Damien was admittedly reluctant to let Minerva go. However, he was comforted by the fact that she been asked by Thomas Weasley (and although he was a third-year, he was used to the traditional boy-asking-girl thing), who she had accepted quickly. He liked Thomas, the young boy definitely beginning to grow on him during Quidditch, and he gave him a sharp warning after practice a few days before.

Thomas, much to his surprise, told him that he completely understood, and he wouldn't hurt her.

Needless to say, Damien was impressed, and the young man got his vote of confidence.

Because of their lack of dates (despite unknowingly being two of the most sought after boys in the school), the two hung around the food table, watching the girls with small smiles on their faces.

"They look so happy." Patrick smiled, eating several cocktail sausages.

"They do…they should look happy. But I don't think _we _should look happy while watching them, or other people, dance."

"Why?"

"People will think we _want_ to dance."

Patrick's eyes lit up as he laughed to himself.

"Good point, Demon. I think we'll just stick to the food table."

"Definitely."

* * *

_1st November, 1935_

Damien awoke suddenly the next day, his eyelids heavy and trying to block off the sudden flood of light that penetrated this barrier and had woken him up.

"Rise and shine, birthday boy!" Patrick yelled in his ear, only to be hit with a pillow on the face, which was instantly pulled back to cover the back of Damien's head.

Patrick picked himself up from the floor and stood up again, still cheerful, and pulled the pillow off of Damien's head.

Damien, in reply, buried his head under his quilt cover, which was instantly pulled off.

"I'm too tired, Paddy. Bugger off." He muttered.

Patrick looked confused, mouthing 'bugger off' to himself before shaking his head and waving his wand.

"If you don't get up you'll regret it."

Damien lay still in a ball.

"Fine, don't say I didn't warn you."

He flicked it, and a bucket of cold war dropped on Damien's naked upper body.

Damien's yells rang out around Gryffindor Tower, and many people appeared in the Common Room just in time to see Patrick Fletcher running for dear-life, chased by a soaking-wet Damien McGonagall, tackled down as he was about to make his escape.

"I spent half of the bloody night up with you, because you couldn't stomach a glass of fire whiskey." Damien said angrily, poking his finger in the boy's chest.

"I went and STOLE a hang-over cure and a lot of other potions to stop you throwing up at four o'clock in the morning. And what thanks do I get? Being woken up at half past seven by being yelled and having freezing-cold water poured over me! You should be thankful I don't have my wand, or you'd be a pink poodle right now! You should also be thankful it's my birthday, because I'm feeling generous today. But believe you me, wake me up again like that and I'll take no mercy on you. Understand?"

Patrick swallowed, turning pale, now understanding how he had threatened so many people in his time, and why they took them seriously, and nodded quickly.

Damien suddenly grinned and got up, holding a hand out for his best friend.

"Good. Now get up and get a shower. You stink of alcohol, and sick, and it isn't nice."

* * *

_25th December, 1935_

Like an excited child, Patrick woke him up on Christmas morning jumping up and down on the raven-haired young man's bed early that morning like a five-year-old child waking their parents.

Damien resisted from cursing the boy with pink hair and a clown outfit…he would save that for the next day…but until then, he might as well get up…it was Christmas after all.

He pulled out his dressing-gown, slipped on his slippers and came to the surprisingly large pile at the end of his bed before, just as he was about to open them, Patrick interrupting him.

"Hey, bring your presents downstairs, we're going to open them together."

There were only four Gryffindors staying for Christmas that year; Damien, Patrick, Minerva and Sarah.

"Ok, go on down and I'll catch you up." Damien said, beginning to gather his received presents and the presents he was going to give his friends.

"I'll wait for you. I might as well." Patrick shrugged, before helping him gather his presents into a pile with his spare hand.

Damien thanked him and, several minutes later, the two made their way downstairs, just in time to see two figures sitting by the fire, which lit up, revealing Minerva and Sarah in their own dressing-downs.

"Merry Christmas!" Damien said happily, setting his presents down under the tree as the girls had done, Patrick following his example.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!"

"Ho, ho, ho!"

The three turned to Patrick, who shrugged.

This was a common occurrence.

"So…presents…" Damien said, edging away from Patrick.

The girls laughed, Patrick stuck his tongue out and, together, the four gathered beside the tree.

"Ok…Min, why don't you go first." Sarah suggested, handing her a package with purple wrapping paper. "This is from me."

She handed two similar packages to Damien and Patrick, who resisted from opening them until Minerva unwrapped her own.

Minerva carefully unwrapped it, not wanting to rip the paper, and, to her surprise, found a small, silver charm bracelet, with small charms of a star, a moon and a wizard's hat already hanging off of it.

"You said you liked mine," she said simply, showing her the matching one on her own wrist.

"The charms are really cheap, so you can get a lot of them."

Minerva marvelled at it for a few seconds before engulfing Sarah in a hug of thanks.

Damien and Patrick, during this display of feminine appreciation, had taken the time to open their own presents.

To Patrick, she had given a pocket telescope (which, she hoped, would not be used to spy on girls swimming in the lake), and to Damien, she had given a book about astronomy (her favourite subject and one of Damien's keen interests).

"Thanks, Sarah!"

"I love it!"

The girl blushed.

"Ok…what about mine next?" Patrick voiced.

He had given Minerva a book about Animagus, entitled 'Finding your Inner Animal', Sarah a new brass telescope (her old one had been dented, and since it had been spelled, it couldn't be repaired by magic), and to Damien he gave a large supply of sugar quills (enough to get him on a sustainable sugar-high for several weeks, he was sure).

"And mine." Minerva cut in, handing out her three presents.

It was apparent that Sarah's love for Astronomy was well-known, owing to that fact that Minerva gave her a book detailing and showing the constellations in their seasonal shifts. To Patrick, Quidditch fanatic, she gave 'Quidditch Through the Ages', which, despite the fact that he was not a huge reader, he started to skim, a grin on his face. Finally, to Damien, she gave him a black-leather covered diary, with accompanying quill and inkwell.

He looked at it in surprise.

"It has different sections for the journal part, and then other parts…you can select how many and what they are for, as well as if you want passwords for them. Also, it has unlimited pages, unlike your old one, which is about to run out."

Patrick's head snapped up.

"Which is well hidden from prying eyes." Damien said calmly.

Patrick's shoulders slumped.

Damien rolled his eyes before giving out his own presents. He watched nervously as they opened them.

To Sarah, he had given a small glass ball which would project the night sky into the air, as well as show constellations and the likes. To Patrick, he had gotten, thanks to his brother Marcus, a signed Quaffle from the England Quidditch Team, who had only last year won the World Cup. However, Minerva's was the most important, and he held his breath as she opened it.

It was an elegant silver necklace, with silver cat, like Azrael (who was currently running around, tearing up the already shredded wrapping paper), dangling from it, a real emerald for it's eye.

She stared at it in shock.

"If you don't like it I can always get it changed…" He started, only to be cut off by her.

"No…no…it's beautiful…"

He subconsciously let out a breath in relief, and helped her put it on.

"It has a protection charm on it as well," he continued, "so that only strong curses and Unforgivables could get around it while I'm nearby, and, if others get through, will dampen the effects, even if I'm not there."

She looked at him, tears in her eyes as she pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned, catching sight of Patrick and Sarah's approving and serene looks before smiling, and pulling away, reaching for another present.

"Now, let's go and get some turkey…I also want to give Professor Dumbledore my present…"

_**1234567890**_

"Socks! How on earth did you know?" Dumbledore asked incredulously.

Damien grinned.

"I remember you once saying to me about how people always get you books," several teachers looked away at that statement, "and that you would love socks…and it struck me as I was shopping in Hogsmeade. I'm not trying to bribe you…yet…but it's to thank you for helping me, with my duelling and with transfiguration."

Dumbledore waved it off, staring at the blue socks with golden snitches flying around them in pure bliss, whenever he felt something hard inside, pulling out a box of lemon drops.

"My dad always gets a crate-load, and sends them on, so I thought you might like them." He shrugged.

And so many times he had cursed those infernal sweets, unaware that he had introduced them to him. There would be a large number of people after his blood if that got around.

* * *

_25th June, 1936_

To everyone's surprise, Gryffindor had once again won the Gryffindor Cup (Damien still felt the euphoria of being Captain of the winning team, having been presented the cup only two weeks ago, the roar of the crowds, even louder than the previous year, still ringing in his ears.

However, after this, he had been doing increasing Prefect duty, three nights a week with alternating weeks of having the Wednesday off, his additional lessons, his mountain-range of homework (practice papers for the OWLs) and his own study for the exams, which had started the previous week and would end today, with Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He had, unknowingly, breezed through his other subjects, and, for his strongest subject, would obviously do better.

And he did not disappoint, his examiner watching in fascination at his demonstration (which she kept going slightly longer than usual, to see what he could do) as he cursed, jinxed and shielded with practiced ease.

And as he left, meeting up with Patrick and Elizabeth (they were waiting for Anne, who had complained about her surname for a good half-hour before they went into the exam) and talking amongst themselves until Anne came out, and then, together, they ran outside, cheering in delight, much the amusement of the other fifth-years who were outside the Hall at the time (although many followed their example afterwards).

* * *

_30th July, 1936_

Damien felt a hovering presence beside him, even while half-conscious, and he opened his eyes slowly, squinting.

His glasses were handed to him before he could say anything and he pushed them on while sitting up.

His vision focused, showing Minerva in her nightgown.

"Min? What are you doing here at…well, what are you doing here? It's rather frightening being woken up by that…Patrick done that to me once and I nearly punched him…although that was reflex…" He added wickedly.

Minerva rolled her eyes as he slowly got off-topic.

"Your Hogwarts letter and OWL results are here…but if you don't want them…"

He was suddenly more alert and snatched them without word, trying to settle the nausea attacking him.

He ripped them open, his jaw dropping as he got further and further down.

Minerva started to grow impatient after a few minutes.

"Well? How did you do?"

"I…I got straight O's…and the examiner for Defence noted that I could take it at NEWT level with ease!" He gaped, and she fell silent for a split-second before suddenly smiling brightly and hugging him.

"That's brilliant! Father will be so proud of you!"

Damien flushed, but his grin didn't fade.

He couldn't believe it, if he was honest.

"And…wait, you took _Muggle Studies_? And _Arithmancy? And Divination_?" She asked in disbelief.

"You only took Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures…"

"Well, I knew about them, so why not take them?" He shrugged.

She looked at him.

"Divination!"

He grinned.

"Well, it was a load of codswallop anyway…I predicted that the examiner trip over a chicken on the way out. They marked me badly, I think, until they tripped over, in the way out, an escaped chicken from the Transfiguration classroom…" He burst out laughing.

She had to laugh.

She thought Divination was a complete waste of time, and had no value.

Especially after she saw Damien helping Patrick describing several different types of deaths he could use in his homework.

"But seriously, let's go."

Damien relented, pulling on his dressing-gown and slippers before being dragged downstairs, a silly grin on his face.

_**1234567890**_

Damien watched as the seconds hand slowly moved towards the 12, bringing midnight and, with it, the 31st of July, not aware of the significance of such a date in his life.

However, he was aware something unusual was going on around him.

The tingling of magic prickled his skin, even though he was doing no magic of any kind.

His wand, which was in it's sheath on his wrist, started pulsating, emitting a golden mist, slowly, not enough to get his attention just yet, although his odd feelings were enough to cause him to put his back against the wall, leaning against his trunk (which, although he didn't know it, had packed itself with all his belongings earlier the night) in fear of what might happen.

He always trusted his gut, as it never led him wrong, and it told him that he should do this.

And while, slowly, a golden mist enveloped him from the bottom up, his emerald were never once torn away from the ticking seconds hand, which seemed to be going slower than it should be.

Twenty…ten…five…four…three…two…one…"

His eyes followed the seconds hand to the last tick until midnight, whenever his vision was obscured completely, and the gong of the grandfather clock downstairs echoed around him, enveloping him slowly with each ding, and finally, at the twelfth, the golden light flared around him, and it vanished as suddenly as it appeared, taking, along with it, an unconscious Damien McGonagall.

Damien McGonagall would never return to the McGonagall home again.

* * *

I got another chapter out before I go…I really am hoping for another…I've got nothing else to do all day, what can I say?

It's not perfect, but it's the best I can churn out with this chapter…I expanded on his last year, and it was a lot of hard work.

Also, in reference to James Bond, I just had to include the reference…de-ja-vu, we'll say.

Let me know what you think!


	9. Returns, Meetings, 'Family' and School

Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.

Warnings - Swearing

**_Author Notes - _**I was rather shocked to open my inbox to find a lot of reviews and a request to send someone the chapter because the link wouldn't work - I don't I've grinned so widely for ages, so thank you to all my lovely, lovely reviewers!

Also, someone said about how Minerva would have surely already known that Harry was in fact Damien…I've got a few points about that.

For one, even in the magical world people can only time-travel for several hours at a time - a much larger time, one would assume, could even more drastically alter time and the future, even by one small glitch. I highly doubt that Minerva McGonagall, an obviously sceptical person about Divination, would believe in any wild theories about it.

Another point would be, basically, you wouldn't expect Harry Potter to be your missing older brother, would you? Even if they look alike, bar the scar. Many people look like non-related (and related) people, many years apart. Close related people, for example James and Harry can look very similar. Distantly related people can also look alike, as my friend proved to me, after finding a picture from many years ago of an old relative, who looked identical to her at the same age…again, this is similar with non-related people.

Although, I believe, that she is very aware of how similar they look - which, I think would, in part, attribute to her obvious protective nature of him.

_**Also, this shall be based on JK Rowling's HBP, so there shall be spoilers and large parts of the book shall be in here…again, doesn't belong to me, although the sassy plot changes are mine ;-)**_

However, on to the story.

* * *

_Damien opened his eyes slowly, the feeling that he was moving overtaking him, even though he was sure he was not in any place where such actions could take place._

_Once he forced his eyes to stay open for longer than a few seconds, he froze as he finally took in his surroundings._

_He was surrounded by a swirling, golden vortex, spinning around smoothly as he was pulled away from his home._

_In the other direction, another boy came towards him, so similar and yet so different, yet the only thing that he could differ their physical appearances, bar the fact that the boy was rather short and scrawny, was an unusual lightning bolt scar on his head._

_The two looked at each other, neither wanting to break the uncomfortable silence placed upon them by Fate._

"_What the hell is going on?" The boy finally asked, looking at Damien cautiously._

"_I don't know…I was surrounded by this golden mist, and I fell unconscious…it was strange, because it was when it hit midnight, going into the last day of July, which I didn't think held any significance…" Damien trailed off, unaware of the significance it did indeed hold._

_The other boy sighed.  
__  
"And there goes being normal for a year…" He said sarcastically, apparently having not believed it for a second._

_Damien looked at him, confused._

"_So…what's your name?" Damien asked, shrugging to himself._

_The boy looked at him, clearly amused for some reason. He had no idea why._

"_Harry…Harry Potter."_

"_Damien…Damien McGonagall."_

_The two shook hands as they floated, thankfully not moving anymore._

"_Any relation to Minerva McGonagall? Her grandson or something?" Harry asked curiously._

_Damien laughed._

"_I'm her older brother."_

_Harry raised an eyebrow._

"_Damien, what is the date?"_

"_July 31st." Damien said. _

_Had he not said it clearly before or something?_

"_And year?" Harry persisted._

_Damien raised an eyebrow, but answered._

"_1936."_

_Harry closed his eyes, muttering to himself for a few seconds before opening them again._

"_And there adds something else that I've done to my list. Time-travel…great, just bloody great. Well, I did it before, but it was only a few hours, and I controlled it then…" He trailed off._

_Damien's jaw dropped._

"_T-time travel!"_

"_I'm from the year 1996, Damien. I was attacked by this Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, and hit with a spell that pulled me away in some strange golden light…which is what we are both in now."_

"_I was just sitting in my room, at it came to midnight, making it July 31st, and I vanished in the golden mist…light…vortex." Damien waved his arms around._

_Then, suddenly, something clicked…he remembered this for some reason, only from another perspective…from Harry's…he…he was Harry…_

"_Harry, this is going to sound odd and very blunt, but I am you."_

_Harry, to his surprise, didn't look too shocked.  
__  
"I'm used to stuff like this happening to me…wait, I'm going to be McGonagall's big brother…wh…how…?"_

"_Voldemort's spell made you a child, and put you on their doorstep. They adopt you and you live with them until you hit sixteen…not the one you celebrate, but the one that comes on July 31st…" Damien trailed off, suddenly more information of their meeting coming back._

_It was unusual to remember what he himself was going to do._

"_As soon as you cross this point, you will be a baby and your scar will fade, because Voldemort is not, and never has been, alive then…and I will get to be Harry Potter again…both of my lives will meld, basically. In sixteen years, you will be brought back here as Damien, and find another Harry Potter, like you are now, and get his memories etc. This will basically lift the block and help you remember everything, like the one working on me now…"_

_Harry did look surprised now and had opened his mouth to say something, but Damien cut him off._

"_The block will be lifted a few times, but you won't remember what happened. Take care of Minerva, and treasure your parents…make the most of your time with them…"_

_Harry nodded. He apparently picked up the underlying meaning in this.  
__  
"I will…I won't remember this, but I guess on some sub-conscious level I will, so I promise I will…take care of everyone for me…"_

_Damien himself nodded._

"_Well…I guess this is goodbye then." Damien said._

"_Yeah…and the last time I'll be able to speak for a few years." Harry added, smiling grimly._

"_Good luck."_

"_You too. And good luck with Voldemort…you'll need it."_

"_Thanks, Harry…and good luck with Patrick…you'll know what I mean in a few years." He laughed._

_Harry smiled and the two shook hands before, together, crossing over onto the other's side of the vortex._

_Harry, on one hand, started to grow younger each second, his hair getting shorter and less in volume, his eyes loosing their haunted look of a haunted young man, and they gained, once again, their innocence and purity, joined in this younger apparel by soft, smooth skin, bearing only the blemish of the already fading scar and a healthy shade of colour that a couple of weeks at the Burrow had yet to bring to him._

_Damien, on the other, felt as though a hot poker had been pressed into his skull, with his scar returning sharply and painfully, as it had been gained, and he resisted whimpering in pain. His eyes fought to retain their vivid emerald green colour of joy and purity, and just managed to win, although the consolation for loosing was that there were clear signs he had seen too much for his young age in them, as well as a saddening wisdom beyond his years that no teenager, adult nor child should bear._

_His 'Damien' body remained, clearly winning that battle, being much more healthy and fit than his 'Harry' one, however, the scars on his body from his adventures, for example, one on his arm from the basilisk fang which pierced him in the Chamber of Secrets, fought their way on._

_He felt, then, the sudden rush of memories from his life as Harry in a few brief seconds, and he scrunched up his face in discomfort before, when it faded, relaxing, although his muscles were slightly spasming in pain._

_The block had been lifted by this burst, and it was if a piece of him that had been missing was returned to him._

_This truly was the case._

_And as he started to drift away once again, seeing a baby Harry…Damien…in a Moses basket, looking at him with his bright, innocent eyes before being spun out one end of the vortex, he himself was spun around violently and jerkily, making Floo Powder seem like a pleasant stroll along the beach, and just as he was about to give up the struggle with his stomach, he was thrown out of the void with a sudden thrust._

* * *

Voices pushed through his groggy exterior and pummelled his mind, awakening Harry Potter from his calm slumber. 

He could not distinct any words, instead deciding to gather information by what he could feel in the air.

Having slight empathic abilities came across very well at this time.

One person was sitting beside him, to his right-hand side. They were clearly upset and concerned, and trying to be strong for the others around them, but was clearly not managing because of grandfather-like love for the young man before them.

Beside them was someone who obviously had placed many barriers around their hearts, and they were slowly crumbling as they surveyed him closely, a protective nature overwhelming them, and a felling of failure, that they failed to protect him. There was one feeling he could further identify, a painful loss at his similarity to another.

Another, to his left, was also upset and near devastated as they overlooked him, and did not try to put up a façade like the first, clearly dissolving into tears as she held tightly to his hand. A sister-like love flooded through him as he probed slightly deeper.

Beside this person was another, looking over him with shock and distress. They held a brotherly love for the him, that much was obvious. A strong façade could not hold back watery eyes whenever they saw Harry twitch painfully, sending shockwaves of pain rippling through his body.

In front of his bed, two people sat watching him as well.

The one to the left watched him wearily, tired, weak, upset and clearly distraught, for many different reasons. A darkness tainted them, desperate to escape and gain vengeance for hurt to their cub, but resolve and a lot of hard-work kept it under control, at least for the moment. They watched the last of their pack lie in pain and couldn't held but think of the fact that they should have protected him better. He was the nephew he never had.

To this person's right was yet another, the final person in the room, who watched in tears as the young man they viewed like a little brother lay in pain and hurt. They were also devastated for many reasons, but this newest heard was spreading among them too thick, and there was some sort of block apparent within them, although he couldn't specify what it was before was suddenly jerked from his relaxed state, and his eyes suddenly shut open.

This reaction had been caused by a sharp pain in his scar, and he let out a muffled gasp before instinctively trying to press his hand onto it

However, he found himself too weak, and finally settled to turn to those around him for answers for what was going on.

"What…why am I here?" He asked, reaching for his glasses and savouring the feel of the cool metal on his warm skin, and with great effort sat up and pushed them on, his eyes focusing on the six people around him.

On his right sat Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, to his left Ron and Hermione, and in from of his Remus Lupin and Tonks, all staring at him as he looked around.

"You are here because you were attacked by Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore said gravely, and Harry turned to him, frowning slightly as he suddenly remembered it in a flash of once-blocked memory.

That was definitely going to bug him.

"Talk about never having a relaxing year." He muttered, offering a sheepish grin before looking around at each of the people gathered, pausing, to everyone's notice, on McGonagall.

"I always thought you'd teach Transfiguration, you know. I'm owed a few galleons on that one…I mean, seriously, someone bet that you'd teach Divination, so it wasn't that hard to get my money's worth."

His eyes flared in amusement whenever her left eye twitched at the mention of the subject. It was an unusual start to try and tell her something important, like that he was her big brother, but he was never really good at things like that, and therefore tried to put it forward another way.

Everyone else was just plain confused, and exchanged looks.

"What do you mean you'd always bet on it?" Hermione asked, her voice weak and choked, obviously from crying. "Professor McGonagall has always been our Transfiguration Professor."

Ron muttered in agreement, eyeing Harry with apparent fear for his sanity.

Harry offered a grin.

"Well, maybe for you two she did, but not always for me."

"Someone's messed with your brains, mate." Ron said after a moments thought.

"Nope, only time." He offered.

He still looked at McGonagall, willing her to remember something, to make some connection.

Bar the sensitivity of the whole issue, he couldn't really come out and say, 'Hi, I'm your long-lost brother'…that would get him carted off for a 48 hours stay at St. Mungos with a morphine drip.

Her eyes suddenly widened.

'_Bingo.'_ He thought.

She was like this for several seconds, before suddenly breaking down into tears and gripping him into a vice-like hug, her strict-appearance dissolved into pure emotion.

Harry was never used to hugging people, thanks to his experiences with the Dursleys, and this emotional discomfort, no matter what had happened to him as Damien, would always stay with him.

His arms hung limply at his sides before, finally, he put them on her back, savouring the feeling of someone caring enough about him to give him a hug…only Mrs Weasley and Hermione had ever given him hugs before…that emotional scarring would also linger.

"It's alright, Min…everything's going to be all right…it's going to be alright."

Over the next few minutes, her cries died down into stifled sobs, and she finally looked up from where her head perched on his shoulder, her red-rimmed eyes not looking right on her face.

He searched through his pockets and pulled out a packet of tissues, and she took one gratefully.

She gave him a weak smile.

"I guess you never expected this." He said jokingly, and she gave a watery smile, but couldn't answer.

There was silence.

"Harry, dare I ask what surprise you have sprung on us this time?" Dumbledore asked calmly, curiosity leaking into his voice.

Harry looked up at him, a crooked grin on his face.

"Come on, Albus, surely it'll click."

Hermione, he saw out of the corner of his eye, looked ready to burst, especially with his now calling the Headmaster by his given name, but he didn't look her away.

However, this had distracted him long enough before he turned back, looking into the man's now watery eyes.

Slightly embarrassed, he looked over the man's shoulder, before the man rose and pulled him into a strong hug, a manly one of course, which he held for several seconds before releasing.

"I always believed that you would come back to haunt me…just never like this." The man said, beaming, his voice steady enough that Harry finally met his eyes again.

Harry laughed.

"What can I say? I was sent to haunt you twice."

He turned to Tonks, Remus, Ron and Hermione, who now sat unmoving and blinking rapidly.

"Ok, I think you need to know what's going on…"

_**1234567890**_

Twenty minutes later, Harry, Minerva and Albus were looking carefully at the four, who were in various degrees of shock.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who snapped out of it first.

"Well mate, you were never really normal, were you?" Ron shrugged, causing Harry to grin. "I guess this just adds to it…and if the Professor is your sister…well, it's a bit weird, but I'm happy for you…and I know I speak for this lot as well."

Harry felt a small burst of relief sprout within him as the young man put a supportive hand on his shoulder and sat on the bed.

He had definitely grown-up since last year, that was for sure.

Hermione followed this up quickly.

"I agree with Ron for once." She began, gesturing at a surprised Ron. "It doesn't change the fact that you're our best friend…we would never abandon you, Harry."

She also joined him, sitting on the bed.

The support of his best friends meant more to him than he could say.

Remus and Tonks followed this example, and also sat on the bed.

As he surveyed the group of six who sat on his bed, all smiling at him, he knew he'd found a true family…as dysfunctional as it may have been, these people were his family, the people he cared most for, and he would not have had it any differently.

He didn't stop smiling until he fell asleep several hours later, from utter exhaustion.

* * *

After staying for around a week in the Hospital Wing, the days spent catching up with his sister, his best friends, his mentor, his honorary uncle and bizarrely related cousin of some type (all the Pureblood families were related in some wacky way, so he happily accepted Tonks as a brilliant cousin replacement for Dudley). 

Of course, the time spent not talking was spent reading, playing chess (he was actually _good_ at chess as Damien, and only lack of energy from his injuries (which had at first included slight internal bleeding, a punctured lung from his broken ribs and a broken knee cap (he didn't even ask about that one)) had stopped him from getting up and cheering like a mad man after he had beaten Ron in a tight game.

Ron, to Harry's amusement, had looked like a fish out of water, but had taken it surprisingly well.

"Well, it seems like me beating you for five years has finally enacted some hidden chess gene in you." He laughed, before beginning on the large pile of chocolate frogs, found beside Harry's bed, courtesy of Fred and George Weasley, as a 'Get Well Soon' present.

This present had also included a large crate of their products (some of which they had been instructed by the Order to not sell to the general public after Remus had had a look through the crate), which they had told him quietly to use or sell, and this was stowed carefully away under his bed, from Molly Weasley's hawk-eyed view, whenever she also came to visit.

He had also, to his amusement, spent many days talking to Ginny.

She was a good source of humour to the bed-ridden young man, and her vivid descriptions of 'Phlegm vs. the Weasley Matriarch' had been so funny that he was sure he had punctured his lung again from laughing so hard.

Thanks to a mixture of all this, Harry had survived the week under Poppy Pomphrey's strict hospital regime, and he was finally allowed out, spending the rest of his summer with the Weasleys, with regular trips to Hogwarts to both train with Albus (added to thrown in lessons with Filius Flitwick, who Harry could have sworn he had sent into cardiac arrest, and Alastor Moody, who had muttered something before giving him a smile, which looked more like a grimace and smiled back).

Also, thanks to some heavy bribery and persuasion, Ron and Hermione were allowed to begin training up with Flitwick, who had the most spare time on his hands. They would eventually move on to Moody, and then Albus, but until then, they understood the lack of time the other two men had, and happily began training with Flitwick, and also Minerva, who despite still depending on a walking stick (which reminded Harry he had some bones to pick), who was able to teach them advanced Transfigurations.

The only unfortunate thing about his training (he also attended Ron and Hermione's, to help out) was that he missed the trip to Diagon Alley.

However, after Ron and Hermione told him about the fight with Malfoy and his mother in Madam Malkin's, and the strange package, he wished he could have gone.

Something was definitely going on, especially, he thought, after Ron commented on Malfoy refusing to let his left arm be shown, and he added it on his list of things to do.

Of course, Hermione had scoffed, until he had talked to her about it one afternoon.

She was a lot more supportive of his gut instinct after that, although it did help that he brought the Prophecy up to both her and Ron then (Ron had been rather stubborn about the Malfoy thing as well, to his surprise, and had been dragged into the conversation). Being slightly dazed and unable to argue was definitely an advantage when trying to debate something with an obstinate Hermione Granger.

He only wished he's have something else up his sleeve like that for the next time he would try and argue with her.

Finally, it seemed, the damned Prophecy had come in useful for _something _good.

* * *

Finally, after an enjoyable two months break from the gruelling life of school, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry returned in their flocks to King's Cross Station, and onto the hidden Platform 9 and ¾. 

However, surprisingly early for once, the Trio and Ginny climbed aboard, to Mrs Weasley's goodbyes.

Ron and Hermione had quickly left for their Prefect meeting, while Ginny went off to meet Dean, leaving Harry all alone, and surrounded by mesmerized girls before, thankfully, Neville found him.

"Hi, Harry!"

"Neville!" said Harry in relief, turning to see the round-faced boy struggling toward him.

"Hello, Harry," said a girl with long hair and large misty eyes, who was just behind Neville.

"Luna, hi, how are you?"

"Very well, thank you," said Luna. She was clutching a magazine to her chest; large letters on the front announced that there was a pair of free Spectrespecs inside.

"Quibbler still going strong, then?" asked Harry, who felt a certain fondness for the magazine, having given it an exclusive interview the previous year.

"Oh yes, circulation's well up," said Luna happily.

"Let's find seat," said Harry, and the three of them set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students.

At last they found an empty compartment, and Harry hurried inside gratefully.

"They're even staring at _us_!" said Neville, indicating to himself and Luna. "Because we're with you!"

"They're starting at you because you were at the Ministry too," said Harry, as he hoisted his trunk into the luggage rack. "Our little adventure there was all over the Daily Prophet, you must've seen it."

"Yes, I thought Gran would be angry about all the publicity," said Neville, "but she was really pleased. Says I'm starting to live up to my dad at long last. She bought me a new wand, look!"

He pulled it out and showed it Harry.

"Cherry and unicorn hair," he said proudly. "We think it was the last Ollivander ever sold, he vanished next day - oi, come back here, Trevor!"

And he dived under the seat to retrieve his toad as it made one of its frequent bids for freedom.

"Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?" asked Luna, who was detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of the Quibbler."

"I don't know, I'm still thinking on it…" said Harry honestly, sitting down.

Neville bumped his head and emerged from under it.

"I hope you decide to do it. I liked the D.A.! I learned loads with you!"

"I enjoyed the meetings too," said Luna serenely. "It was like having friends."

This was one of those uncomfortable things Luna often said and which made Harry feel a squirming mixture of pity and embarrassment. Before he could respond, however, there was a disturbance outside their compartment door; a group of fourth-year girls were whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"I'll do it!"

And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin, and long black hair pushed her way through the door.

"Hi, Harry, I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane," she said loudly and confidently.

"Why don't you join us in our compartment? You don't have to sit with _them_," she added in a stage whisper, indicating Neville's bottom, which was sticking out from under the seat again as he groped around for Trevor, and Luna, who was now wearing her free Spectrespecs, which gave her the look of a demented, multicoloured owl.

"They're friends of mine," said Harry coldly.

"Oh," said the girl, looking very surprised. "Oh. Okay."

And she withdrew, sliding the door closed behind her.

"People expect you to have cooler friends than us," said Luna, once again displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty.

"You are cool," said Harry shortly. "None of them was at the Ministry. They didn't fight with me."

"That's a very nice thing to say," beamed Luna. Then she pushed her Spectrespecs farther up her nose and settled down to read the Quibbler.

"We didn't face _him_ though," said Neville, emerging from under the seat with fluff and dust in his hair and a resigned-looking Trevor in his hand. "You did. You should hear my gran talk about you. 'That Harry Potter's got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!' She'd give anything to have you as a grandson…"

Harry laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject.

_**1234567890**_

After a very…interesting…lunch with Professor Slughorn, the new Professor whom he had helped Professor Dumbledore persuade to come back and teach the coming year, Harry left quickly, just beating Blaise Zabini out of the door as the Slytherin was about to push past, still shooting him a filthy look that Harry returned in interest, and managed to stop himself from following the young man to his compartment in his Invisibility Cloak out of impulsive curiosity about Malfoy.

Instead, he waited for Neville, and together they went back to their compartment, taking it in turns with Hermione and Luna to get changed with Ron.

Eventually, the yearly train journey was over, and the five pushed through the crowds, the Trio waving to Hagrid on the way past as he greeted the first-years, the gesture of which was returned enthusiastically by the giant man, before they moved on to the carriages awaiting the student's arrivals.

Pausing only for a second, to gently pat the Thestral that would guide their carriage, Harry climbed on last and shut the door, causing it to move forward, first in the herd, towards the magnificent castle.

The trip was conducted in silence, all the students in deep thought as the memories of the previous year, some good, many bad, rushed back to them. Harry in particular was temporarily taken - it was different seeing the Castle from the outside, and on the first day of term - it brought back a lot of painful memories for him.

All things get worse before they got better, he just hoped the worst was over last year.

_**1234567890**_

The last crumbs of dessert, however few, vanished as Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet.

The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand!" Hermione gasped.

Apparently, she had just noticed the man's injury.

She was not the only one. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harry from the Dursleys. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now…to our new students, welcome, to our old students welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…"

His speech continued for a minute until, as per usual, he reached the staff appointments of the year.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. "Professor Slughorn" - Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waist coated belly casting the table below in shadow- "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"_Potions?"_

The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.

"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare at Harry. "But you said-"

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. He didn't care; he was staring up at the staff table, incensed.

How could Snape be given the Defence Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn't it been widely known for years that Dumbledore didn't trust him to do it?

"But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.

"I thought he was!" said Harry.

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgement of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harry was sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

"Well, there's one good thing," he said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"That job's jinxed. No one's lasted more than a year…Quirrell actually died doing it….Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death…"

"Harry!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," said Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron and Hermione were not the only ones talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that silence was absolute before continuing.

Harry, however, paid scarce attention.

All he could focus on was Snape, the man he hated, quite possibly even more than Voldemort himself, and vowed to himself that this year, the man would not be able to get the upper-hand on him, or get away with mocking his parents one more time…or there would be hell to pay.

* * *

After receiving their new schedules, Ron and Harry headed up to the Common Room for their first free period of the year, hanging around for an hour by the fireplace before going to their second period, Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

Harry would have called it a disastrous first lesson, bar the fact that he was already highly advanced at non-verbal spells.

That was the only good thing he could think of.

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while of watching Ron, near purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation.

"Here - let me show you -"

He turned his wand on Harry quickly and shot off a sickly yellow spell.

Harry, who watched as it came towards him almost in slow motion, felt his eyes come alight with angry flickers of fire, and threw up a 'Protego' out of instinct. Of course, he knew more advanced ones, but it was not good to give the enemy an advantage, after all…and he wouldn't trust Snape as far as he could throw him.

It was so strong that Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk.

The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling, but unable to find anything wrong, simply walked on.

"Ron, mate, just relax, and just say it in your mind…it's like saying it aloud, you know…if you can hear it loudly in your head, it'll have to effect of being spoken." Harry told a puce Ron after Snape left.

Ron, taking this advice, was very pleased whenever a stunner came out, and Harry deflected it easily.

"Whenever you put it like that, mate, it makes it sound almost easy." Ron grinned, obviously very pleased with himself.

Harry had grinned and had quietly slipped him a sugar quill for a reward, which was accepted gladly.

_**1234567890**_

After lunch, it was time for their Potions lesson of the year.

Harry, thankfully, had known to get his Potions ingredients already, however Ron, slightly embarrassed had had to ask for them, as well as a copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

He was about to change it because of the writing all over it whenever Harry caught sight of the book, curious.

"Ron, let me have a look at that for a second, would you…? You can use mine, if you like."

Ron shrugged and took Harry's book before going to collect the ingredients the rest of the class had already rushed to get…Felix Felicis for a price was apparently very effective at getting a class to work.

Harry frowned slightly as he read the instructions…he was a very good Potions-maker as Damien, something he had found out from Moony (which he had decided to call the man) had come from his mum, and he knew about these changes for better effect…but it was still rather strange, and he had quietly copied the book before taking the real one, stuffing it into his bag, and leaving the freshly copied one on Ron's desk.

He thought there was something odd about the book - his gut told him so, and he trusted it…he decided he'd take it to Minerva after class before rushing to work.

_**1234567890**_

With a small bottle of Felix Felicis tucked neatly in his pocket, his price from the day's successful potion, Harry had quickly left his friends and soon found himself outside the Transfiguration classroom.

He knocked on the door and waited.

"Enter."

The noise in the room died down as he pushed open the door, and he looked around to see a room full of wide-eyed first-years, Gryffindors he knew, staring at him.

Slightly nervous, he entered, shutting the door behind him out of habit, and walked up to the front to where Minerva sat, looking at him with well-hidden curiosity.

"What is it, Potter?" She asked calmly before turning back to her class and looking at them.

They hurriedly began talking again, and working on transforming their matchsticks in to needles.

He set his bag on the floor and pulled out the book he had copied, turning it over, to where something small was written on the back cover.

'_This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince'._

She studied it, flicking through the pages.

"Wherever did you find this?" She asked quietly, still looking through it.

"It's Ron's…he had to borrow a copy of Advanced Potion-Making from Professor Slughorn, and I copied it, giving him the copied one back. I knew there was something strange about it, and saw this whenever I took a look over it before the end of class."

She studied it closer, analysing it.

"It says this book is fifty years old…but that is very unusual…"

"Why?" asked Harry, leaning forward slightly.

"Because I recognise this hand-writing very well…this handwriting belongs to Professor Snape."

_**1234567890**_

"It belongs to _Professor Snape_!" said Hermione incredulously, turning the book over in her hands.

"That's what Min said," replied Harry, " and she receive messages from him a lot, about staff meetings and the likes."

"But it says the person is…"

"A Half-Blood…and apparently, his mother's surname was Prince…his father was a Muggle…just like Riddle." He added bitterly.

"But…but how could he be a Death Eater? It's known that Voldemort doesn't accept Half-Bloods or Muggleborns, well, apart from very rare circumstances…"

"He would have had to play up his Pureblood side, wouldn't he?" Ron cut in, taking out his own copy of the book. "That's the only way…although he might have been wanted because of his abilities in Potions…I mean, look at these adjustments…and Harry knows that they work, don't you?"

Harry nodded wordlessly.

"So really, Half-Blood Prince is working of his blood and his name…it's not a real title or anything…" Ron concluded.

Hermione snatched the book back and looked through it.

"All we need to figure out about him now is how he'll finish the year - alive or dead." Harry said wryly.

* * *

Finite! Wow, that was definately the hardest chapter to write so far. 

I know that was all a bit sudden, but as I said, there's a lot of changes to the book.

I'm not very good at fluffy reunions etc., so hopefully you'll forgive me for that…again, the following chapters will contain HBP spoilers…just a warning.

Let me know what you think.


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